Crimson Tides: Flagships of the Stardust Sea
by Oceanbourne
Summary: From the ashes of the Saltwater Scourge's empire, aspirants to the nautical throne wage war amidst a backdrop of chaos, deceit, and the promise of an invaluable treasure. But with each unraveling of the thread, someone must pay, and when the ocean brings up the cost, will the price be too high?
1. Prologue: Mighty Long Fall

You must never go up to the surface, the sage had decided in their last attempt at conciliatory negotiations. You can always follow the current of the ocean to bring you home no matter how far you may wander, but out there on the land under the sky the tides will only sweep you away.

And he was more than okay with that. All the adventures he could ever want to take lay in the promising expanses of the great deep, in every deepsea trench and over every mountain ridge. He just could never stand the feeling of being locked away in the safety of their city, under the impervious walls of the titanic mountain, waking up every day and going through the same old boring routine. That stifling lifestyle would only need to placation, and contentment would lead to decay. He didn't look forward to growing up. The sages had told his parents that they would know him for his youthful spirit; his soul always yearned to see more, to find out what lay behind that coral reef or what treasure that sunken ship might have. Even though he had lived his whole life under the water, it could not extinguish the inner flame of curiosity within him, and the fire continued to serve as the fuel propelling him onwards as he leapt over a jagged rock and deeper into the sunken ruins.

None of his people could keep up with him, and none of them wanted to indulge him on his travels.

He wouldn't have to end up sharing any of the treasure he found, he would laugh to himself, letting his weight drop him through the fallen pillars encrusted with barnacles, a sign of the antiquated nature of the ruins. The structure had fallen on its side, although he couldn't tell whether it had done so before or after the sea claimed it. From the orderly way in which the pillars were spread out he deduced that it had been a temple, and where there were temples they would certainly have treasures. Deeper he plunged, the light fading as he descended further into the temple and farther from the rays of light coming from the surface, now just faint traces of illumination which barely made it to the sand at the bottom.

He was afraid, frightened, even, but he also felt excitement, and the stronger of the two feelings propelled him on to take a few more steps in the dark. The complete blackness wouldn't allow him to find anything of value no matter how many treasures might have laid around him, but he spied a light source at the far end of the passageway, and he made for it. With each step along the sea floor he turned to his sides, left and right showing the same empty oblivion, and dread began to take hold of his chest. It was probably best not to waste too much time here, making for the light as quickly as his webbed feet could carry him.

Because of the temple's sideways orientation, when he had reached the room with the light overhead, he could see that it actually came from the ceiling which lay on his right side. Squeezing through the narrow gap in the roof, he found himself outside the ruins and in the middle of the spires lying sideways along the seabed. The floor of the roof ran vertical on his left side, and he kept towards it as he continued along, figuring he would find something eventually if he tackled the building plan from the roof downwards. The priests would have stuffed the treasures in the back, he figured. He discovered that the part of the roof where it met the back wall had developed some cracks in the structure, whether by manmade force or the gradual weathering over the ages. With a gentle nudge, aided by the high pressure of water at the bottom of the ocean, he created an entrance just large enough for him to slip through. It seemed he had hit the jackpot, as with the faint light shining through the crevice he spotted the glint of golden coins lying in a large heap of treasure. Heading into the back room to get a closer look for himself, he found various gems amidst the sea of gold, rubies and emeralds and jade and all sorts of precious metals. He hardly knew what to do first, trying to figure how much his little hands could carry and if he could bring over some kind of container from the city to help bring the treasure over.

Would they even appreciate the jewels? He didn't think it unlikely for the sages to brush off the prospect of wealth, spouting some stupid mantra that they did not require any more gemstones other than the Sacred Treasures, the teardrop-shaped sapphires kept in their own temple. In truth, he didn't go on his adventures searching for gold or pearls or any of this; the thrill of finding anything gave him enough of a reward, but he wouldn't turn down a bonus if it stumbled upon him like this. He wondered if another intrepid explorer like him, a long way in the future, would eventually find his people's treasures just like he had stumbled upon this forgotten civilization's.

His hands made it halfway towards a particularly appealing star-shaped crystal when the movement of bubbles behind him indicated the presence of another, much larger being. Spinning around to put a face to the new arrival, he found a lot more staring at him than a face.

The eyeball itself dwarfed him in size, and he didn't even want to think about how far down those tentacles extended, but he began to make as much distance as he could between himself and the giant squid, all thoughts of bringing home a couple of souvenirs from the temple wreckage abandoned and replaced by his survival instincts. Fortunately for him the deep-sea gigantism affecting its body didn't appear to extend to its brain and it took several seconds for the squid to realize that it had found something which it could eat, giving him time to escape the tentacles which sluggishly lashed out to attack him, curling onto themselves in hopes of reeling him in. What he lacked in size and strength he made up for in quick thinking and quicker movements, easily dodging each appendage and weaving through the squid's tentacles. When it came to the dangerous creatures of the deep, aspiring adventurers made split-second choices which decided if they literally would sink or swim. The waters had quite a steep learning curve with no tolerance for sloppiness, but that was alright with him. He learned quickly. He'd faced many monsters of the deep before in his adventures, although he hadn't seen a squid as large as this one. Hoping that the general concept of squid-wrangling applied to the giant ones as well, he swam upwards, making sure not to move too close to the tentacles near its inside, as they moved a lot faster, and aimed for its head.

The disadvantage of having such a large head meant a small fry like him could easily hide in its blind spots, and he safely made his way to the back of its head after dodging some of its tentacles and tricking the others. With his position on its back safely secured, he considered his options. With regular-sized squid, he usually just gave them a slap on the lower back before they would rocket off with him in the saddle, but he wondered whether the same gesture would elicit any sort of response from the giant kind. His hand came down on its slimy skin, but it didn't seem to have any impact on its behavior, continuing to whirl around in the futile hopes of figuring out where he went. Maybe it gave up on hunting for him, for without warning the squid contracted its tentacles before pushing out, flinging itself into a random direction at a high speed he could only describe as exhilarating. The sea floor below him passed by in a blur of blue and green, and if he could open his mouth to shout in delight he would. He never expected a squid to move so quickly, but onwards it rocketed past schools of fish which parted in it wake, and drew the wary stares of a few sharks as its titanic form moved through the water.

As much as he was having on his newfound joyride, the responsible side of him came through and he realized he would have to dismount, which proved a challenge in of itself. He would have to find an area where he could let go without the inertia of his previous velocity sending him into a compromising position, so he scanned the depths for any upcoming signs of kelp forests, where he could hide easily and not risk the chance of crashing into a rock face at high speeds. A patch of green towering above the seabed caught his eye, and as it neared closer he prepared to let go, taking into account their trajectory and the angle at which the squid approached the forest.

He kicked off the squid's back, propelling himself towards the foliage, and he found it difficult to assume control having just dismounted from a high-speed projectile, but the plants served to cushion his landing, and after about half a minute spent tumbling through the kelp he returned to normal swimming velocity, bursting out of the kelp forest and trying to decide which way was home. His mount had long left his sight, the simple-minded brute probably seeking out some unsuspecting oarfish for its next meal. Tilting his head upwards, he found the familiar ocean currents pointing back home swinging from his left to right, and he grinned.

As long as the current could bring him home, he'd never get lost.

* * *

His travels usually took him away from the city for extended periods of time, but he never worried because he would always come back to the same old place. The same old streets, the same old walls, the same old people. He loved them dearly, but he couldn't help but feel they would find themselves end up as the next batch of seaweed washed ashore by the tide, left in their decadence if they never even tried to break out of their familiar home waters.

He cursed the thought for how accurate it proved to be.

For all his qualms about his people's passive lifestyle, the streets would always be filled to the brim with people, from the temple in the middle of the city to the outskirts near the caves and tunnels which went outside the mountain into the frontiers of the deep. The sole advantage they held about their static life was that he knew they would remain there, the expected sounds and sights of normal life going by to provide a stable background to return to after the extravagance of his adventures. Instead he returned to a ghost town, every building and every road deserted. He had come to his own house to find the door eerily left open, and although none of their possessions seemed missing and all the property left untouched, he found no signs of his parents, missing like everyone else.

Invaders seemed unlikely, because they could only get to the city through the mountain passageways, and the guards along the city walls would've surely notified the sages if any armies or monsters made their way towards them. And he didn't come to the site of a battlefield, not the ruins of a city left to the cruel vagaries of war, because everything would have been the same if he had just found people, _anyone_ , there. Or had the sages sanctioned a city-wide exodus in preparation for said invaders? He dismissed the thought from his mind with equal improbability; he'd called them lazy many times, but never would he label them as cowards. They would stand and fight, hardly strangers to the art of combat, and he knew of several armories stocked with weapons to arm them if any such occasion would arise.

He didn't know what compelled him to head for the temple, but his feet eventually brought him there, wondering if the Sacred Treasures remained there. If they had all left the area, the elders would surely have taken the sapphires, the centerpiece of their civilization, with them. He didn't know what kind of circumstances would warrant a migration outside the walls, but he persuaded himself that the elders had a good reason for it. He would probably have felt more concerned if they remained there, because it would imply that they hadn't left on their own volition. Making his way up the steps to the altar at the back of the structure, he looked to the raised pillar, which held a magically enchanted bubble in which the sages stored the Sacred Treasures.

Or would have, if the bare column held anything atop it. No bubble, no protection, and definitely no sapphires.

He tried to convince himself that he had seen the better of two alternatives, and surely the sages had the situation under control. Perhaps he should have felt more concerned for his own situation, as he didn't know where they had gone, but for some reason, the trepidation he held only reached out for the very capable population of four thousand, under the protection of the sages and the imperial knights, rather than himself, alone in the abandoned remnants of their city. Setting his next goal on trying to find their hiding place, he headed for the nearest armory, making sure he armed himself so he could fight if push came to shove. Finding the doors open but no one at the forge, as he had expected, he came across the first peculiarity in the building apart from housing no one inside. The racks usually held the weapons, spears and lances and even hand axes, but he found them empty instead. So the sages had told their people to head out of the city with weapons in tow? They couldn't have gone on an invasion; they would be the last kind of people to show any sort of unprovoked aggression. Chalking it up to a gesture of self-defense, he continued scouring the armory, hoping they had left at least one thing behind.

Lying on the ground in one of the storerooms at the back, a glowing light caught his eye, the white brightness pulsating like a heartbeat. Upon getting closer to the light source he discovered a beautiful three-pronged weapon, a large rod longer than himself, its handle designed like the tail fins of a fish and geometric designs on the outer two prongs. A trident. He picked it up, testing the weight and finding it surprisingly light. Once he held it in his hands the glow had faded from its tip, extending down the length and blinking one last time before it lay dormant. Considering it a promising sign of good fortune, he carried his newfound weapon outside of the building and went on his way, down the streets, into the outskirts, through the tunnels, towards the outside world once more. He wondered where he should start his search. He could think of no safer place in the area for miles around than their mountain fortress, and it still puzzled him on why they had left because he felt they would've walked into greater danger no matter what location they decided on, so he crossed out the trenches to the south, the second most defensible point in the vicinity that he could remember. They might have gone to perform some kind of religious ritual - he never paid attention to the practices of the sages, so it wouldn't surprise him. That lead wouldn't benefit him either, because he could think of no place nearby with symbolic significance. He tried to decide on whether to head for the sandbars to the north with the wreckage of a battleship or to the west to the coral reef with a stone circle around it when he heard the noise. A tremulous roar ravaged his ears, the distortion coming through the water only serving to amplify the terror of the sound.

The leviathan passed by overhead, and he felt like he had spent hours standing there in horror as the endless body slinked across his vision, even from a distance of about three hundred feet. Thankful that it didn't appear to have seen him, he didn't dare move a muscle until its shadow had long disappeared into the murky distance, and even then he found it difficult to swim, not really caring where he moved as long as he moved in the opposite direction as that beast. He stayed as close to the seafloor as he could, as if one move into the pelagic zone would summon forth a horde of leviathans to mercilessly devour him, and he didn't feel like becoming lunch today. The fear had already began to consume him to the point that he almost missed the blue shards at his feet.

Despite only having laid eyes on them a handful of times, he recognized the sapphires when he saw them. One of the Sacred Treasures lay shattered upon the sand, separated into a thousand fragments. He knelt down, carefully picking up one of the duller pieces so he would not cut himself, and couldn't believe his eyes. What were the sapphires doing out here on the open sea? The sages had to have possession of them, so did that mean something had happened to them? He looked behind him, remembering the terrifying size of the leviathan from a few minutes ago. The thoughts began linking in his mind, piecing together a horrifying reality no matter how many times he tried to destroy the chain in his mind.

No.

They weren't gone. He refused to believe it. And he knew the denial didn't solely come from his shock and belief at the spur of the moment, because the sages had placed such a premium on the safety of their Sacred Treasures that they ultimately entrusted their fate to a special kind of guardian, appointed to the post for the sole purpose of ensuring the safety of at least one of them. Mikko would have never succumbed to the leviathan, he told himself, and he would've hidden the rest of the Sacred Treasures somewhere safe. The sapphires would never leave their people's grasp, but apart from their one guardian, the people had left the Treasures. Was this the threat from which the sages tried to deliver the people? The picture intruded into his mind, a nightmarish painting of the leviathans intercepting his people on their way out and slaughtering them all, men, women, and children. But they would never take Mikko, the fastest of them all, a renowned explorer himself in his younger days, and he pictured the guardian scooping up the sapphires and swimming away, forcing himself to abandon all the people he loved, to turn tail and run as the leviathan crushed his family and friends underfoot, and to stick with his duty.

He had wanted to become the guardian one day. He told himself he'd have the indomitable will to make such difficult decisions like that.

But just like the azure gemstone in pieces at his feet, he felt his strength fracture. The world felt much too large for him, and for the first time in his life he wished he could go back home.

* * *

The sages had scoffed at him, saying the open sea had become his true home because he spent more time outside the city walls than in them. He never thought reality would make their meaning so literal, but for years he had wandered in vain, searching for any clue of where his people had gone, if any of them had survived. They had left an entire city's worth of possessions at his disposal, but he refused to come near the mountain again despite its protection. If they had any reason to leave it, then he would have even less motivation to return.

His permanent wanderings made him realize how little of the world he actually knew, and the one good thing he took from his self-imposed exile was that it had actually opened his eyes. The sea housed several other sentient races, the most striking being a race of fish with humanoid features making up their upper half called the Marai. Well, he had only run into one of them, who he took for a wanderer like himself, but she had shook her head and told him she had a mission of her own, to look for some stone which she said would serve as the key to eventually save her people from the creatures of the abyss.

He told her he also looked for a stone, but his people's salvation had long since passed.

They had parted ways not long after their short conversation; she had gone back to her people to prepare herself one last time before heading to the surface and seeking out her destiny. Unbeknownst to the Marai she had given him an idea, something which he had never considered since the sages had forbidden it. He might try his hand at finding out what lay above the water, to the surface, the land under the open sky. After all, they, along with their silly rules and restrictions, had left his life, and he didn't have much to lose now, did he?

When he burst from underwater and stuck his head out in open air for the first time, the exposure immediately wrinkled his skin, and he fought the temptation to dive back under. He would have to get used to the new atmosphere, the uncomfortable feeling of literally being a fish out of water. The sound of horns caught his attention, and he turned around to see a harbor filled with actual boats, real life ships. Ships attended with genuine crewmen, unlike the sunken wrecks he had encountered while exploring. The people babbled on in their human language, a mess of words and sounds unintelligible to him, but he found the new world intoxicating. He had found actual living beings with which he could interact instead of simply looking at the ancient ruins underwater, imagining a life which had been. Maybe he could use some of the surface world's knowledge to find out more about the ocean, about the mysterious leviathan which had caused his people to disappear and scattered their Sacred Treasures. It would take him a while to first learn the language of the landwalkers, but he kept his mind open, ready to absorb any and all of the characteristics of the humans. He would absorb all he could, taking in their mannerisms, their habits, the way they spoke.

He swam around a couple of dinghies and headed for the sandbar, his alien presence largely ignored by the natives. If they felt any surprise at his appearance, they didn't show it, and he surmised that the surface folk might have encountered all kinds of strange and unique beings. He certainly found _them_ fascinating, and he pulled himself onto land to find out more. The feel of sand not drenched in water scorched his delicate feet, however, and he had to wait a while to get used to the feel of the white sand and its heat. Taking stock of his surroundings once more, he took a large whiff of the air - thick, crisp, salty. The scent of the sea. Clutching the trident in his hand and using it as a crutch while he got accustomed to his sea legs, he couldn't restrain the grin forming on his mouth.

The tides had brought him here, and he welcomed his new home.

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's the new project I've decided to work on, a Bilgewater-centric universe. The actual story will bring about perspectives from a lot more champions, I just chose to use Fizz for the beginning. Writing this almost made me feel good thinking of this champion. It's scary what a serious mood can do to you. Screw Fizz, both mine and the enemy's.


	2. Regalis Apertura

Out of all the cases of seasickness she'd prepared for, she never expected she'd have to use the pills on him.

Whenever Valor became agitated or even the slightest bit grumpy he threw tantrums, fits of feathers and claws thrashing around in a bird-sized mess, usually leaving one of her poor hands as the victim. She had learned how to soothe him by gently placing her hand along the back of his head and to stroke the eagle carefully and patiently until he calmed down, but this recent outburst brought a whole new dimension to it: she would have to also somehow get him to swallow the small white pellets while he reeled from the vertigo. Well, they hadn't called her Demacia's Elite Ranger for nothing, and after a few reassuring phrases and some help from a couple of the hands on deck, the eagle had consumed the seasickness pills, taking a laxative in order to fall asleep in one of the wicker baskets hanging on a pole lying around the ship. With that ordeal taken care of, Quinn pushed a stray red streak of hair out of her eyes and walked over to the stern, watching the waters part in the wake of the Gryphon, just one of the newly commissioned marine vessels to come out of the Demacian harbors to answer the recent maritime craze sweeping all over Runeterra.

She had stared at the letter of marque the royal messenger had brought to her like the king had written some kind of joke on the paper, but sure enough, the crown had intended to set her up as one of those privateers, sailing the Twelve Seas in the name of the Demacian crown on the lookout for vessels they considered "present and active threats to the safety of the country's interests abroad." Naturally, that meant attacking any Noxian ship they found in western waters, and even in the unclaimed disputed territory of the Explorer's Sea in the southern parts of Valoran, the captain would order the cannons to fire if he even saw a trace of a red flag on the horizon. While Quinn harbored no appreciation for their rival nation, she still thought the king had taken his imperialistic tendencies a bit too far, and she would much rather have preferred to sit in the crook of a couple of tree branches high up in a Noxian forest watching for assassins and political figures.

Quinn noticed the curve of a dolphin's tail splash the waves a couple of hundred yards out from the edge of her vision. Her watchful eyes, along with Valor's, still proved useful on the open sea, and she took small solace in the fact that her ranger training had not gone completely to waste. Still, amidst the crowd of seasoned sailors aboard the Gryphon, Quinn felt she stuck out like a sore thumb.

"That bird of yours gonna be alright?" She spun around, coming face to face with Jeb, a lanky man whose stature reminded her of a toothpick, sporting a smile from a mouth missing more than just a few teeth. Despite his shoddy appearance, Quinn liked the second mate, who had been one of the first to help the ranger get acquainted with her new career at sea, pointing out to her the different parts of the ship and patiently explaining the difference between port and starboard even after the twentieth time she mixed them up.

"Don't worry about Val," she assured him. "He's seen worse. And he also has the advantage of being able to fly whenever he wants if the rocking of the ship gets to him, so he'll be okay in a couple of hours at worst if we ever need him."

"Good to hear, then," Jeb said, taking out a cigarette from one of the pockets in his vest and putting it to his mouth. "Lookout reckons we're 'bout to catch the Bandle coastline any minute now and all hands should be on alert."

"The yordles are hardly our concern, though." Quinn leaned against the wooden railing of the ship, resting her arms upon it as she turned her gaze eastward in the direction they were sailing, scanning the sky for any signs of clouds that might indicate land nearby. While they didn't exactly have orders to raid any yordle-piloted ships and Quinn knew that the peace-loving species wouldn't align themselves with Noxus in a million years, the king had told them not to trust any crew they came across on the open sea, as liars and deceivers thrived out in the open air just as well as they did in the shadows of castles and taverns.

"They may not be our enemies, but they are not allies," a gruff voice came out from around the mizzenmast. "And as part of the king's royal fleet, we must always be prepared to carry out his justice." Quinn held back a groan upon seeing the first mate butt into their conversation. Roch, a man in his mid fifties with a clean shaven chin and a fixation on tidiness and minutiae, wore that same irritable look on his face as if he walked around with a stick jabbed into his back. From the day they had set sail he had constantly picked on the ranger for every little mistake she made while on board, as if expecting a lot of nautical knowledge from her just because of her status as a champion of the League. She tried to explain to him that her experience there consisted of fighting others on land, not in the water, but he didn't seem to make the distinction, or care. None of the rest of the crew seemed to hold him in high regard either, as they constantly talked behind the first mate's back about his stuck-up act and his incessant fussing over the tiniest of anomalies. He had come from a house of great wealth and prestige back in Demacia, one of the aristocracy's very own who they had sent to oversee the venture and report back to the crown. Roch was here to take notes not just on their travels and exploits but also the state of affairs of the crew, making sure everyone remained loyal to their nation and no one made off with any funny ideas.

Valor didn't like him very much, either. Roch trudged over to Quinn, who stepped away from the railing and stood straight as she waited to see what business he wanted with her.

"The eagle can't be napping like this so close to foreign waters," he chided her. "Get him to wake up."

"He's seasick," Quinn protested, realizing how strange she must have sounded. "I got him to take some medicine, so he should be fine in a couple of hours, but I'm letting him rest since we're not doing anything."

"Not doing anything?" She could see the first mate's nostrils begin to flare. "This is not a pleasure cruise, Ranger Heathcliffe. We are the kingdom's very presence in international waters, and we must-"

"Oh, lay off the girl for once, will ya, Roach?" Jeb cut in, the crew's favorite nickname for him eliciting a slight twitch from the first mate. "We've come this far already from Demacia and we ain't seen anything yet, so it might do you well to relax a bit. Goodness knows you could use some sleep."

Roch stormed off without choosing to reply, leaving Quinn alone with the second mate once more watching the waters go by. "Thanks for backing me up there, Jeb."

"Any time I can rib that noble I take the chance. I'm just as glad to send him off as you are." Jeb tossed his cigar overboard unceremoniously as Quinn watched the stub land in the water and immediately disappear in the foam from the boat, a skeptical look on her face.

"Every sailor's got to pay tribute to the gods of the sea," the second mate explained, and before Quinn could question his sanitary practices a call from the crow's nest caught both of their attentions.

"Two, three masts coming towards us on our port side! Too far to tell how many, but she's definitely carrying cannons with her!"

Jeb cupped his hands around his mouth and called the attention of the lookout climbing down from the topmast. "What's she flying, Rod?"

"Red as the blood in my veins, sir," the young boy reported, electing to bypass the rest of the rope ladder and dropping some ten feet onto the deck. He rose from his landing a few feet in front of Quinn and Jeb, dusting off his shirt. "Noxian warship, no doubt about it."

The revelation prompted everyone on deck into action. "Ready the cannons - archers, get on the yardarms, goddamnit, why aren't you all already up here?" Jeb shouted at no one in particular, walking amongst the chaos on the deck and continuing to bark out orders. Quinn supposed she would join the bowmen and hurried up to climb the rope ladder, but Jeb called her over. "Heard you were a fighter, weren't you?"

Quinn wondered who gave him that impression. "I can hold my own in close quarters with a dagger, but I can't wield a sword like any hired soldier could."

Jeb still smiled that incomplete smile. "But you're not any regular soldier, are you? Come on, let's go. Might be best if you woke up Valor, too."

Val was still asleep. How could she have forgotten? She had just recently administered the seasickness pills to him, and she didn't know if he could operate so soon since the recent wave of nausea, but she figured it better to have him awake in any case. At normal strength, the efforts of Quinn and Valor combined could take down any opponent in single combat with the exception of only a few specific fighters who she only encountered on the Fields of Justice. The combination of arrows and talons easily overwhelmed people unaccustomed to dealing with the ranger, the duo's compact synergy not only in their physical maneuvering, but also their mental movements, allowing them to prevail through even the bleakest of odds. And even if she could not get the help of Valor's combat skills, at the very least, he could still scout for her and the crew. Quinn headed over to the basket in which she left him, gently nudging the eagle. "Hey, Val, you alright? Are you awake?"

Valor responded with a curt peck at her fingers and a rolling over onto his other side. Nothing she hadn't seen before. "Valor, get up. We've got work to do and it involves sinking your talons into your favorite food."

The eagle opened up one eye to look at her. "That's right. Noxians."

Valor slowly arose from his resting position before taking to the air and alighting on Quinn's arm, and she smiled. The feel of having a partner fighting by her side, battle after battle, never got old, especially when that sidekick was also her best friend. They headed down to the main deck to join Jeb, who pulled them over amidst the throng of sailors reaching for weapons from the ship's racks. She could see the Noxian warship clearly now after they had gotten closer, and Quinn could make out the shape of the cannons already hoisted in the gaps down on the gun deck, figuring the sailors one level below her were fitting their own cannons on the Gryphon. The ships could probably fire upon each other within a couple of minutes, and Quinn felt the beat of her heart quicken as the threat of battle came closer.

She found Jeb standing next to her as they looked over the railing in anticipation, a cutlass attached to his belt. "Noxians don't have the greatest taste in names, do they?" he asked, pointing to the text painted on the ship's hull. Black Lion. "King of the beasts, huh? That won't be nearly enough to bring us down. We've got the power of the king of the sky with us, too."

We need the king of the sea for this battle, though, Quinn mused. Maybe we should've named the ship after a shark.

"Hold your fire, men," a calm voice commanded from behind them, and Quinn turned around. She hadn't seen the captain much since he had first introduced himself to her the day they set out from Demacia, and unlike Jeb's reassuring, friendly presence, or Roch's stern, overbearing nature, she couldn't quite fit a personality to Captain Perris, a sketch in her notebook left half-completed. For someone thrust in the middle of capricious situations like navigating through the perilous whirlpools in the southwestern corner of Runeterra near the Fyrone Flats, and here, where a single well-placed cannonball could send them to the bottom of the ocean, the captain always maintained a smooth demeanor, the eye of the storm amidst the turbulence of man's destructive nature.

In contrast to Roch's clean-shaven face, the captain sported quite the specimen of a beard, a brown thicket which only seemed to further cloak the face of the enigmatic man alongside the wide-brimmed captain's hat covering half of his face in shadow. "Let the Noxians fire upon us first if they please. We wait until fifty yards before we attack, no further, no closer."

One of the bewildered sailors spoke up. "T-that close, sir? The ship'll be halfway underwater before we get to that distance!"

Perris looked to the warship coming closer and closer - they stood within cannon distance by now, Quinn knew - and his stature never wavered. "We will see." He remained watching the ship's progress for a little longer before heading up to the bow alone.

Perris' mysterious orders did little to answer the questions swirling in Quinn's head and the ranger turned to Jeb hoping to find some light on the matter. "What's the captain playing at?"

"Naval warfare is a far more complex affair than you could possibly understand," Roch cut in. "It is a common gambit that the captain is carrying out to get a feel for the type of opponent that we are up against. For those who are not aware, ships can defend themselves from the impact of cannonballs if they have the services of a blast mage onboard. This type of sorcerer can conjure a shield to absorb the damage an explosion would normally cause and protect the ship from the impact. After a short amount of time, the mage can also release the energy absorbed by the shield back at the attacker. As you can imagine, a blast mage's skills would be in high demand, and because there are so few of them, the ones in the employment of city-states are assigned to only the most important ships in the country's navy. Unfortunately, we do not have the privilege of being one such ship."

Quinn looked at the Noxian warship coming closer and closer with newly sprung anticipation. The wooden exterior gave no hint of whether the Noxians held a blast mage within their ranks, but every ranger knew there was always more than meets the eye. "So the captain thinks we've run into a Noxian ship with a blast mage on it?"

The first mate looked like he wanted to continue ridiculing her, but instead he sighed and continued. "That is hardly the point of this exercise. The Noxians do not know what kind of ship we are either. You may have noticed that they began to slow down as we came nearby, because they are unsure on how to act because if they were to strike first and we had a blast mage, their attack would be nullified and turned against them. The captain chose to continue at his pace, because he is unafraid of their cannons."

"But if the Noxians fired at us, we'd be an easy target. So the only reason why Captain Perris would do such a thing..." Quinn said, scratching the back of her neck with a free hand. After thinking over the matter for a couple of seconds, she began to realize, her eyes widening.

"Finally, you're beginning to understand," Roch continued, giving a curt nod. "He is giving them the impression that we are a blast-protected ship and if they dare to make a ranged attack, it will be their downfall. They had assumed that the offensive would begin when our ships came close enough to each other for sailors to board the opposing ship, but you can see that is not the case. And since they have shown their weakness in their hesitation, our path of action is clear…"

"Fire!" they heard a voice yell, and the sounds of cannons going off and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. "Prepare the battering ram!" the same voice ordered. Smoke covered the fifty yards separating the two ships, but Quinn could tell that the captain's risky posturing had given them the advantage of the initial attack. It took her a while before she could hear the answering gunfire to come from the Noxian warship, and by the time their enemies got into the full swing of their attack, the Gryphon collided with the other ship, causing the deck to rock from the impact.

"Go, go, go!" Quinn heard Jeb's voice over the mayhem, and the sailors armed with swords and axes laid down long planks to connect the decks of the two ships before they began to charge into the Noxian crew, their shouts dictating the song of the battlefield after the initial cannon assault began to wear off. She felt a hand pull at her shoulder, and met eyes with the second mate who gestured towards the battle. "We were told to prioritize your safety, but I hope you didn't expect to walk off this ship without getting your hands a little dirty," Jeb grinned.

Quinn was no stranger to death and killing, but her job as a scout prioritized the gathering of intelligence, not dead bodies. She'd never fought in a battle with more participants than a full scale teamfight on the Rift, and even then her opponents never actually died. The next few minutes would put her into real, unforgiving peril. Her heart pounded with anxiety, but she knew she couldn't let stage fright unnerve her now. Still, she looked at the carnage apprehensively, doing her best to gather every ounce of courage. Valor squawked encouragingly at her shoulder, settling her thoughts a little. "The thought never crossed my mind," Quinn finally replied, readying her crossbow and following the line of sailors rushing towards the connecting planks of wood.

"That's what I like to hear," the second mate cackled, drawing forth his cutlass from the crude sheath hanging from his belt. "All ya need to do is cover my back. I'll show these Noxian dogs!" He rushed into the fray with more gusto than Quinn would have imagined, and she scrambled to stay on his tail.

Attacking from behind a sturdy front line - she could work with that, as she usually performed such duties on the Fields of Justice. Valor immediately left her shoulder, taking off into the air and circling overhead to pick out any targets of interest. The duo had used such a tactic hundreds of times, enough that Quinn rarely worried about the possibility of the eagle falling victim to a stray arrow or gunshot, and she knew he would want her to concentrate on her surroundings. Raising the crossbow to her chest and taking careful aim, she fired a bolt at one of the Noxians coming up from behind Jeb, who had just skewered an opposing sailor on his sword. The projectile caught the Noxian's neck as he lifted his own sword, and Jeb turned around just in time to catch the body hit the floor and the man let out a gurgle as the blood flowed from his neck. With a quick slash of his own, Jeb ended the poor man's misery.

"Fine shooting, lass," he began to thank her, but the arrival of another few challengers kept him busy, and Quinn continued to oblige serving as his backup, making sure to keep her back to the edge of the ship or any other structure as much as possible so no one could sneak up on her. Valor would point with one of his wings to a target which he deemed particularly vulnerable, even if they were one not necessarily engaging Jeb, and she would quickly fire her crossbow at the target, almost always guaranteeing a kill, or at the very least, incapacitation. At that time, the Noxians had realized that it would prove better for them to focus their efforts on the ranged attacker, and tried to close in and pin her down. The little armor Quinn typically wore allowed her to dodge their swings and keep her distance, but the cramped quarters of the ship deck were a far cry from the much more open fields and forests in which she typically found herself, and despite her best efforts the Noxians had gotten within their melee weapon range. Quinn didn't worry too much about their proximity; she still had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Sizing up the situation, she counted three of them closing in. Manageable odds. Heading for her closest attacker, the ranger rushed towards the man, leaping into the air and pushing off the Noxian's outstretched knee. Quinn swiveled backwards, rocketing away from him in a backflip and landing on her feet in a crouched position as the man staggered from her kick. Keeping the crouched stance, she fired her crossbow, nailing the Noxian in the chest as he toppled onto the deck, the bolt sticking out of his stomach. The remaining two men had recovered from their shock and began to charge her, but Quinn dodged the first man's clumsy strike and tripped the second man's overzealous swing, taking out the dagger from her belt and injecting it into the man's neck as he fell past her. Backing away once more, she noticed her last opponent prepare his assault more carefully this time, slowly closing the distance instead of blindly rushing in. Quinn matched his advance with equally measured backpedalling, but a sharp pain in her shoulder distracted her from the Noxian in front of her, and the man took the opportunity to come at her with a vicious swing.

The sailor suddenly halted in his charge, both hands raised with the sword in the air and his eyes a mix of pain and confusion as he slumped over onto the ground. Quinn had collapsed into a kneeling position as she clutched her shoulder with her right arm, finding that an arrow had pierced her left shoulder guard. She looked up in an attempt to discover what had happened, finding the concerned face of Jeb kneeling down to examine her wound. "This'll hurt," he warned, before quickly yanking the offending projectile out of her with one pull. Quinn cried out in pain, and Valor descended from his patrol of the skies to worryingly fret over her wound.

"It's… nothing serious, Val," Quinn managed in between grunts of pain. "Who…"

"One of their archers, I'd guess," Jeb offered before he got himself into another altercation, dodging the horizontal swing of another sword. "Your bird could probably tell you more. I'm a little occupied here!"

Understanding that she couldn't do much in the fight with her injury, Quinn looked to retreat back to their ship. "Right… I think I'll back out for a while, Val." Walking on the outside of the battle and moving as fast as she could in an attempt to avoid attention, she headed for the planks which would take her back to the Gryphon. She looked at her wound once more, bemoaning the fact that it had struck her left shoulder instead of her right. _Of all the times to be left-handed…_ Valor lightly pecked at her unharmed shoulder before she could get far, and Quinn gave him her attention. "What is it?"

The eagle extended a wing, and from behind a column of stacked crates Quinn caught sight of a slim figure duck into hiding. "Was that the archer?" she asked, and Valor nodded.

"I still have enough in me to settle the score if you're up for it, Val," Quinn told the bird, and immediately Valor shot forth to flush out their prey. Quinn carefully walked towards the pile of crates, waiting for a signal from Valor to show that he had found their target, and sure enough, within a few seconds a very enraged Valor had forced the archer into hiding. The eagle swooped back and forth around his head, expertly staying just out of reach of the man's hands, and the archer couldn't even set an arrow to his bow because Valor would simply just knock the arrow out of his grip. Unfortunately, Quinn couldn't use her crossbow either because the archer's previous arrow had wounded her shooting arm, and she had already used up her dagger on another Noxian. Fortunately, she still had a weapon at her disposal which would not easily wear out.

"Go for the eyes, Val!" she shouted, and the eagle turned its attention to the archer's face, a flurry of feathers and talons threatening to tear out the man's eyes. But the archer smartly kept his face down, relying on his free hand to fend Valor off, and although Quinn could see the blood begin to drip from his knuckles as Valor's talons cut at them, he could hold the bird off and make it out alright without Quinn's crossbow to actually put a dent in him.

She figured she'd have to make do with brute force, charging at the preoccupied man and ramming her right shoulder into him. They came down hard onto the ship's deck, with not as much of an impact as Quinn would have liked because she didn't typically resort to muscling it out, but she had the number advantage of him and the initiative. The archer was much stronger than her, however, and easily threw her smaller body off of him, hurriedly fitting an arrow to his bow and trying to shoot her point-blank. Valor once more came into the way of the archer's aim, but the Noxian managed to fire off the arrow. Valor's efforts had forced the man to shoot wildly, and while the arrow didn't find Quinn herself, it did hit her crossbow with such force that she had to drop the weapon, and the archer desperately kicked the crossbow away while he still grappled with Valor and tried to maintain possession of his own weapon.

Seeing an opening, Quinn once more threw herself at him, tackling the archer from behind and throwing her arms around the man's waist to immobilize him. He collided with the ship's railing, his head slamming down onto the wooden frame as Quinn and him both tumbled to the ground. Quinn found the use of her limbs first, doing her best to pin him down while she tried to wrestle the bow from the man's grasp. Valor lended a hand as well, digging his talons into the man's neck as the pair broke down the archer's resistance. Quinn found the material of the man's weapon much heavier than expected, faintly noting that it had some kind of metal to its frame before smashing the bow into the back of the man's head. Taking the quiver of arrows from the satchel tied around his waist, Quinn buried one of his arrows into his neck for good measure, panting in exhaustion and relief as her struggle came to an end.

"That's… finally over," she said between coughs and found that some of her blood had washed up on her sleeve when she covered her mouth with it. "Thanks for...having my back, Val." With the adrenaline from her encounter starting to fade, Quinn once again felt the excruciating pain in her shoulder come to the surface, and she fell to the ground as she tried to endure the pain. Valor squawked concernedly as he flew around her, but she had already begun to tune out the world as she retreated within herself to counteract the pain. For some reason she had kept the bow of the dead archer in her hand, and Quinn focused on the thought of never letting it go even as she felt her consciousness slip away.

She remembered two gunshots going off in the distance over the low dim of the battle beginning to draw to a close before the blackness took her.

* * *

Comfort didn't exist when you travelled on the ocean, Quinn soon found out.

She felt six different aching spots which she knew didn't come from the battle, and opened her eyes to find herself lying sprawled out on a bench somewhere below decks. Valor didn't seem to be anywhere nearby, and she couldn't get any more information on her surroundings as the aches tripled in intensity if she tried to lift herself up. So Quinn could do nothing but slowly turn her head, finding little but the walls and low ceiling above her, and groan in frustration, not for the first time today.

"We will be arriving in Bilgewater shortly. Can you move?" a familiar unpleasant voice asked.

The displeased face of Roch came into view, looking disappointed as always. Quinn felt he would always wear that expression unless she performed nothing short of a miracle, and she supposed the act of staying alive didn't net her many points in his book. "Not much," she answered.

"Good enough." Quinn had the feeling he didn't understand. "Get yourself on deck as soon as possible." The sound of footsteps quickly exiting the room indicated that he had left, and although she would normally feel thrilled at the fact, she couldn't manage out of her situation alone.

"You're up and kicking, aren't ye?" the second mate's voice came through - from a set of stairs behind her, Quinn figured - and she beheld the face of Jeb looking down at her. Quinn managed a weak smile. She could think of nothing sweeter than seeing that crooked smile and cracked teeth at this point in time, and couldn't resist letting out a small chuckle at her pitiful state of being.

Jeb handed her a small cup of water alongside some strange leaf she had never seen before, although Quinn figured that didn't mean much because she only knew of the plants which grew around Demacia, and even then the botanists told her that thousands of different species existed. "Take this. Medicinal herb from Kumungu. It'll help with your wound, though I can't say the same for your taste buds."

He dropped the leaf into her mouth and poured the contents of the cup shortly after, and Quinn had to agree with his statement. She figured the plant from which the leaf had come was probably bitterness incarnate, and the water did little to ease the unpleasant taste on her tongue. It took her all her willpower not to spit the leaf back out in Jeb's face, and after an unpleasant few seconds before Quinn could swallow the medicine, the ranger finally caught her breath, gasping from the ordeal.

"I'd like to say that you'll get used to the taste, but you really won't," Jeb told her. His lips contorted into a wry grin, and he lifted up a familiar-looking bow, placing it on the bench next to her. "We didn't find your old crossbow. Figured a Noxian might have thrown it overboard or something, but when we found you hunched over in a corner on the deck you refused to let go of this thing. Can you even use a regular bow the same way you do a crossbow?"

Quinn felt the pain receding, and managed to slowly pull herself up into a sitting position. She shuddered to think how the recent turn of events would have gone down if she was the one seasick. "Rangers are trained in the use of both kinds of weapons, although we typically prefer crossbows, myself included. With some work I can get the bow remodeled into a crossbow, if there are people in Bilgewater who can do that… Weren't we supposed to stop in Bandle, though? Why the detour?"

Jeb had fished out another cigarette, bringing a lighter to the stub before fitting it to his mouth once more. Taking the cigarette away from his mouth for a second, he blew out a puff of black smoke before speaking. "Winds blew us off course and the captain figured we'd spend less effort making our way there than trying to fight the current to any yordle-controlled harbor. The fight with the Noxus wasn't cheap, and we need to make repairs as soon as possible. Roach is right though, we're not ten minutes away from the harbor. You'd best be up else we leave you on the ship overnight!" And with one last laugh, he left her.

Quinn tested her joints warily, finding that the medicine had at least lived up to expectations. Hoping to find Valor and make some sense of all the chaos which had transpired in the last few hours, she slowly got up from the bench, scooping up the Noxian archer's bow in her right hand and testing her balance. Finding it satisfactory for the short walk up to the main deck, she hobbled her way to the staircase.

She dismissed the burning in her left hand as just another ache from the battle.

* * *

 **A/N:** Roch is pronounced "roke."

I'm hardly an experienced nautical writer, more like a flopping landlubber, so feel free to correct any mistake I made in the ship terminology.

I was on vacation for five days else this chapter would've gotten up sooner. Oh well. Length is still a bit longer than expected. It's a high standard to set for the first chapter, considering I started Trinity with ~3k words per chapter. Technicalities aside, I was surprised there wasn't much written about the Bilgewater events, especially the less-talked about sea skins that Aatrox, Garen, and Quinn got (I still like Woad Scout more).

I'M UPLOADING THIS NOW JUST IN CASE THE DOC MANAGER GOES DOWN AGAIN I MIGHT'VE WANTED TO EDIT IT SOME BUT MAYBE LATER


	3. A Cruel Angel's Thesis

Fire did make a better purifier than water. She began to understand the Burning Vengeance's perspective as she departed from where she had ordered the _Syren_ to dock and walked ashore onto the empty shoal, an isolated stretch of sand located on the other side of the cliffs bordering the Bilgewater harbor. A dark blue canvas floated above her, a much different setting than the flames of the previous day, but this far south on Runeterra one could always see the stars come out. As much as she had wanted to stride onto the boardwalk that night and take what she knew was rightfully hers, she had to restrain her desires for now. Just a little longer, and she would have it all, she kept telling herself.

Try as hard as it would, the eager, devilish spirit inside her head couldn't make her lose her grip on reality, though. Sarah Fortune would never let something so short-handed as an impulse pull her away from her ultimate vision. The scarlet-haired woman walked off the sand and onto a grassy path taking her on a slight incline which wove around the cliff face, heading past boulders and small bluffs in a roundabout way to get around the large hill. Her itinerary would take a long time, but she needed to ensure she entered the port town the correct way - undetected. A lot of eyes would fall on her as a likely candidate to rise up following the power vacuum caused by the destruction of Gangplank's armada, and although she would hardly balk at the prospect of taking on the other contenders face to face, she saw no reason to take any unnecessary risks at this point in time.

Her target awaited her sitting on a boulder close to the cliff face, noncommittally staring over the bay and the waters illuminated by the dim light of a crescent moon. At the sound of her footsteps he slowly turned around, taking a while to confirm her identity in the darkness before walking over to her and handing over a twice folded-over, slightly crumpled piece of paper. Miss Fortune opened the document to its full size, finding a penciled drawing - a criminal profile, really - of a long-haired, dark-skinned man with a diagonal scar on the left side of his face, running from next to the eye to the nose. His name appeared below in big black bold capital letters.

Zaitan.

"One of the men we thought to be in Gangplank's pocket," Rafen expounded. "They all shut up and worked together because he had them all crushed under his foot. But with the old dog gone from the picture, who knows how well they'll get along now?"

"You can't appreciate how high the sky is until it's been lifted from your shoulders." The redhead looked over the paragraph of information below his portrait, finding nothing particularly striking about him. He came from a small desert town on the edge of the Great Barrier, and she'd seen his kind in the short backgrounds of hundreds of seafarers like him, orphaned, abandoned, quick with a blade. Miss Fortune wondered why, then, Rafen chose to bring her information on this man in particular out of all the pirates who used to serve as vassals to the Saltwater Scourge, now wayward sons fighting a war of estranged brothers over their father's inheritance.

"I'm afraid I don't quite get your point, Rafen," she said, neatly folding the paper back into fourths before stowing it away in her coat pocket. "What makes him different?"

Her first mate hesitated before giving his reply. "There's something about the man that you can't put down onto a list of factual information. I can't really call it perception, but he's leagues more aware than all the other pirate lords running around Bilgewater. He doesn't seem to really understand what's going to happen, but he still knows what to do."

"A man who's got this far solely on his own intuition?" She pursed her lips. "Could be dangerous. Could be formidable. Interesting, definitely."

"The man ordered a pint of ale at the Selkie's Den of all places," he began, and Miss Fortune frowned. That would mean Zaitan had walked into the middle of the quadrant of the town which belonged to the Lord of Frost, the same thing as making a death wish. "And left to use the washroom before drinking it," Rafen continued. "'Any one of you who touches my drink will be a dead man before I even finish my piss,' he warned them, and of course, there was one man in there foolish enough to take him up on his offer. Sure enough, just before Zaitan walked back into the main room the man had started choking and writhing on the floor and was dead in a matter of seconds. He didn't miss a beat and didn't look surprised at all. 'Has the price of ale really risen that high?' he asked the room around him. Dead silence."

Normally, the thought of a poisoned drink in a tavern wouldn't faze Miss Fortune. Such parlour tricks were common ways of sabotage in Bilgewater. No one would know better than herself. She took it upon herself to go to extreme lengths regarding the regulation of the imports and exports of deadly toxins into the port town, limiting the sales of poisons to only those merchant ships she had personally approved. Her small but vigilant network of informants ensured that any trader unfortunate enough to cross one of her ships' paths without a special certificate would find their wares taken into her custody. _Poison is a woman's weapon,_ she remembered the age-old adage, but instead of balking from it, she embraced the supplies of venom, mostly coming from Zaunite ships, but also a few vats from Noxus.

That also meant that if anything poison-related ever happened in Bilgewater, she should have had a hand in it, but she knew she hadn't authorized the use of any of her personal stores to order anyone's assassination recently. The bounty hunter narrowed her eyebrows. "His drink was poisoned. A trader got into Bilgewater without our eyes seeing them?"

She kept her tone level and her posture steady, but years of working with the redhead made Rafen well aware of his superior's mood changes even when she didn't outright show it. The first mate made sure to answer carefully. "All of our time was spent focusing on the combustion of Gangplank's fleet. That particular shipment must have come in when we were preoccupied with the… other matter."

Miss Fortune shifted her weight to one side and dropped her shoulders almost imperceptibly, a gesture which made Rafen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "And this man came into the bar already thinking that someone had messed with the drink as soon as he got it."

"A more careful person would've simply either not gone there in the first place or not ordered ale," Rafen said. "Zaitan's actions look quite brash on the outside, but then he stops and goes off in a completely different direction for no reason, only for things to completely crash down at where he once stood."

She became more and more interested in this person as Rafen kept talking. "Go on."

"Tonight Zaitan's chosen a tavern a bit closer to home this time. The Inn of Razors." She had rarely gone to a place with such a boorish name, and the types of men who gathered there only served to bolster its reputation as one of the most savage breweries on the isles. The Black Hawks, a group of dark-haired sailors from the southwestern Freljord who served as Gangplank's exclusive intelligence gatherers - sea hounds, they called them - made up the majority of their constituents. With the great dread pirate down for the count, though, his dogs had no one to report to, but Miss Fortune believed that a dog without an owner might prove an even fiercer opponent.

"The Hawks are undecided as to what faction of the pirate lords they wish to back," Rafen went on, "and naturally, Zaitan's taken a few men with him to help with the 'negotiations.' I'd be surprised if the tavern was still standing tomorrow morning, 'cause that place couldn't be more of a war zone. A group of the Lord of Frost's closer… colleagues are also there to push their hand, trying to appeal to their shared heritage." A reasonable strategy, she mused, finding the situation much too alluring to let it go untouched by her influence.

Rafen knew the look which must have gleamed in her eyes. "I can tell what you're thinking. Going there with anything less than six men is suicide."

"I don't need an escort," Miss Fortune insisted. "I'll have a man on the inside. No cause to fear me being alone." Or so her plan went. She quite hoped that her contact had remained in the area and hadn't run off to some gambling joint on the mainland since last she spoke with him.

Her first mate knew to not pry any further on the matter. "What should I have the crew do?"

"Make a wide arc through open sea and have the ship wait over at Whitecrest. I shouldn't be gone more than four hours." It would take them quite a while to bring the _Syren_ to Whitecrest Cove, a fairly large harbor on the other side of the western shore of Bilgewater. She'd have the crew take the long way around so no one could track their movements without leaving the main harbor, and once she finished her work at the Inn of Razors, they would take flight and duck out of the scene until they found another moment to strike. A hit-and-run strategy, aiming to pounce again and again and again.

"Understood. Come back safely." Rafen had delivered the sentiment curtly enough, but Miss Fortune could still feel the concern laced underneath his words.

She gave him a small smirk. "Why, Rafen, if I didn't know any better, I'd begin to think you started to care for me."

Her first mate returned back to his stoic tone. "It's only natural for a crewman to look out for his captain. A heart of stone would sink below the waves."

"How poetic of you, Rafen," Miss Fortune noted. "Have you been reading Petrarch?"

Her amusement gave way to a chuckle as he walked past her towards the ship, and the slant of his shadow quickly left her view as she went off on her own way, into the port town of Bilgewater, straight into the jaws of death.

* * *

She made sure to quickly step behind the two mercenaries heading for the counter before asking for a drink. Spending time discussing the murder of a man in a tavern by poison not fifteen minutes ago already left a sour taste in her mouth, and Miss Fortune figured she'd want to play the game safer, she'd make sure to order her beverage right after a group of people had approached the counter and duplicate one of their choices. Her long time spent on the island had made her grow accustomed to most of the common drinks, so no matter what her predecessors preferred she figured she'd get a drink that she could at least stomach.

They had elected for a Hurricane and a Greyhound, and between the rum and vodka, Miss Fortune decided she'd rather have the lighter drink. She kept the eye contact with the bartender for a short time, showing confidence as she held her gaze for a second, but purposefully turned away before he could correlate her green eyes to the face of the captain of the Syren. Taking the carnation beverage in her hand, she headed towards one side of the tavern, carefully measuring each step she took, making sure not to walk too quickly or slowly. The ragged clothing she had changed into to disguise her figure and the odd headgear she had replaced her captain's hat with slightly discomforted her, and the ponytail which she had stuffed into the oversized cap felt very unnatural. Most of all, the handgun concealed in her coat pocket continually pressed into her side with each movement, the most irritating feature of her apparel - and the most important. She had brought it along if worse came to worse, but also had half a mind to fire a bullet into Zaitan's head if she got the chance.

In any case, it wouldn't do for her to appear in her standard captain's outfit - the former subordinates of Gangplank would skewer her in a heartbeat, and she had to disguise herself as a man, or at least a youth, in order for them to not recognize her. Up until this point, she considered it effective enough at doing its job, for she didn't feel the stares linger on her longer than they usually did. Only the man she intended to meet should have any reason to look at her face for more than a couple of seconds.

Her agent would have his own disguise, but as champions of the League she would know him better than any of the sailors or pirates gathered there tonight. Still, the Inn of Razors had amassed a larger turnout than usual, and through the throng of suspect figures and the very charming palette of dark brown, grey, and black cloaks she found it difficult to find the distinguishing feature which usually symbolized him. She knew the longer she wandered around before taking a seat, the more attention they would set upon her. The Black Hawks, easily spotted by the contrast of dark hair covering light skin and their pitch black cloaks, made up the majority of the tables in the center and took up many seats at the bar counter. Those who sat on the stools scanned each newcomer with judging eyes, careful to regulate the kinds of people who they let in the tavern.

A few men did stand out from the dull mix of colors; a group sitting near the Black Hawks donned sparkling blue cloaks which reminded Miss Fortune of the few times she had seen snowflakes when she spent a couple of Snowdowns at the Institute because the winter storms had become too harsh to sail back to Bilgewater. The delegation from the Lord of Frost spoke quickly and excitedly to the more resigned men in black, who showed little emotion apart from the occasional nod or short sentence. The bounty hunter could make out little more than bits and pieces of their conversation, as she had to keep moving. Choosing to sit at a half-filled rectangular table, she placed herself at the end, away from a group of three other sailors on the other side who spoke in low voices amongst themselves.

For such a full house, she noted that it lacked one rather important component. Calling to mind the face she had looked at from Rafen's profiling, she gave the room another lookover, paying particular attention to the men congregating around the Black Hawks, but found no such figure to match the description. She probably looked unnaturally concentrated for someone in a tavern, as she didn't react until the man who took a seat opposite her, slightly off to the left, loudly set his martini down on the wood, breaking her out of her focus.

He looked just as unrecognizable as her, with an equally tattered cloak and hood covering his face, but Miss Fortune could just barely make out the golden strap underneath his long sleeves on the hand which had just struck the table. She wondered where the hat had gone, recalling his unnatural insistence for the people with whom he dealt never to touch the hat.

"Meeting like this brings back old memories, doesn't it, Sarah?" Twisted Fate goaded.

She kept her voice low, both to avoid drawing attention and to continue her facade of playing a man. "I'm not here to play games, Fate. I need your help."

"I have never been a patient man, Miss Fortune." The gambler's voice had quickly dropped the humor with which he had first greeted her. "The last time we made contact ended up with me nearly getting my head blown off by Malcolm, held within an inch of my life by the Saltwater Scourge, and a moment away from sleeping with the sharks at the bottom of the ocean. All that for a dagger that ended up buried in the seaweed under the harbor."

His story did not impress her. "And instead of heading for the mainland, you're still here, risking your life in a den of lions just to talk with me," she countered.

"Malcolm's lost his gun. I'm out of half my cards, and it wasn't just the Dead Pool that's gone up in flames. The pirate lords have been breathing down everyone's necks. It's nearly impossible for a couple of guys like us to simply just hitch a ride on the next mainland bound ship and get out of this hellhole. Until we find a way to leave quietly, we're still here wandering around, looking for any leads," the Card Master related.

She considered his talkativeness quite unusual. Usually he wouldn't act so up front with his desires, but this time Miss Fortune could easily figure out what he wanted from his predicament. And she knew what she could take in return. "And you want me to smuggle you out."

"Zaun, Ionia, we'd even take our chances with the furballs in Bandle," Twisted Fate said. "If gold is what you're concerned with…"

"My desires are not yours," Miss Fortune interrupted him. "I have all the wealth I would ever need and more, and I am just as powerful and influential as the pirate lords that bicker all over this flotsam. If you want my cooperation, I think you can guess what I want." She inclined her head ever so slightly towards the large group of blue-cloaked men and the Black Hawks.

Twisted Fate began to answer her when a large shout came from the bar, and he turned his head alongside the entire population of the tavern to see a couple of the Black Hawks getting into a confrontation with three men who had just arrived. All of them bore long black hair, but the man in the center, who she assumed was their leader, caught her eye. The diagonal scar she saw run down his face destroyed any doubt she might have had. Her target had finally made his appearance.

Zaitan had arrived.

"I want him out of the way," Miss Fortune pressed to the gypsy, who wisely decided to turn his attention away from the scene at the bar and looked her in the eyes again.

Twisted Fate adjusted his hood. "He's your target? Out of all the damn pirate lords waltzing around, you want to tango with Zaitan? If you're trying to get the jump on him, you might as well ask for the next one-way ticket to Davy Jones' Locker."

"So I've heard," Miss Fortune replied evenly. "Can you do it?

"It all depends on what cards he pulls out of the deck," came Fate's ambiguous answer. "You've heard the talk that's going around, I'm sure. They say he comes to his bed every night with Lady Luck herself in the sheets. It'll take a miracle to break through to someone as blessed as he is."

If Zaitan's reputation was supposed to intimidate her, Miss Fortune wasn't impressed. A man with luck as his mistress only asked to have his fortune turned around on him when he relied on it most. Getting into the metaphorical pants of a goddess of Chance didn't mean much. She herself had slept with Fate once - nothing good had ever come out of that.

"I don't have any cards on me that can make a clean execution," Fate continued. "Obviously I still have Destiny for the getaway, but unless you've brought anything with you I can't guarantee that he goes down quickly. And I'm sure you'd rather not make this a larger scene than it has to be, since you came alone."

Miss Fortune lowered her hand from the table and into the coat pocket where the handgun lay. Subtly directing her eyes downwards, she indicated that she had a solution for him. "Six shots. That should be enough for you."

He nodded in understanding. They had gotten through the easy part, but now they had to deal with the matter of subtly transferring ownership of the gun. Raising her left hand at him to tell him to stay put, she bent down towards the side of the table, pretending that she had dropped something and stooped to pick it up. Feeling around for the handgun, she drew it out of her pocket and quietly set it on the ground between them. When she drew herself back up to a normal sitting height, she hoped he would play his part with an equal lack of suspicions. Fate couldn't simply pick up the gun now by lowering himself down right after her, so he would have to wait a minute or so. But while the gun lay in the open, they would also hope that no one would stumble across it, for if people began to question them, they would have no adequate answers.

The Card Master seemed to catch on to her subtlety, slightly nodding his head and nonchalantly finishing the rest of his drink while turning his attention away from Miss Fortune, feigning boredom. Grumbling something about needing another pint or so, he made a show of hastily getting up and appearing to trip over the bench on which he sat, making him fall to the floor. The bounty hunter wore a bored expression on her face to fool the other patrons, but her mind continued to analyze him with earnest as Fate got his hands on the gun in his antics, now trying to conceal the weapon in the folds of his own cloak. They had successfully completed another part of their plan. Now it remained to Fate to make his way over to the bar, to Zaitan, without anyone noticing.

She noticed a considerable drop in the amount of noise coming from the rest of the bar, and turned her eyes over to the table occupied by the Black Hawks, who had all seemed to bring their attention towards the table on the edge where she and Twisted Fate sat. They can't be looking at us, she thought, but even as she began trying to decipher the situation, one of the men stood up, looking past Fate and straight at her. "I think we've got ourselves some special company here tonight," Zaitan's voice rang out, a slight accent from his time in the Great Barrier accompanying his words.

"What do you mean?" asked one of the blue cloaks.

The dark-skinned man drew out a cutlass, twirling it in his hand. "Paolo," he barked at the bartender, "when you gave that hooded man back there a drink, did you think to take a good look at his face?"

The bartender, a shorter man with a nervous look on him, shook his head. "Didn't catch much of that young fellow, I know he looked at me first so he wasn't one of those suspicious folk, but his stare was so intense I had to look away. Only thing I could remember was his light skin."

Zaitan scoffed. "That's cause that lad over there ain't a man. Gentlemen," he turned to the Black Hawks and the blue cloaks of the men from the Lord of Frost, "it's my pleasure to inform you that we have the Bounty Hunter, Miss Sarah Fortune, here with us tonight."

She spent no time on dwelling how he might have discovered her identity and focused more on how she would react. If she made a run for it, she'd immediately confess to trying to disguise herself in her infiltration of the tavern. She couldn't try to keep up the facade and disguise her voice, because a simple removal of the hat she wore would reveal her long red hair. She could only announce herself now and stand strong. The pirates of Bilgewater still feared her; they didn't call her a bounty hunter for nothing.

Miss Fortune stood up, meeting Zaitan's stare without wavering. "I was hoping to meet you on my own terms, Zaitan, but this will have to do."

"Oh?" The man of the Barrier sneered. "And what business would you have with me?"

They hadn't completely lost the element of surprise even though Zaitan had outted her, for it seemed that Fate had kept his incognito status. If she could keep talking while Fate quietly made his way over, he could get a good shot onto the pirate lord and make his escape. The problem then fell on her to find a way out when she had already attracted the attention of the majority, if not all, of the patrons of the tavern. Hopefully Fate could stir up enough chaos for her to slip away in the confusion.

"I'd say we could have a nice, congenial talk about the future of Bilgewater," she said. "Sound good?"

Zaitan laughed, a mocking snort which portrayed his contempt for her. "You'd be late to the party, in that case. That's what I came here tonight for. Torggen and I both agree it'd be a lot better with you out of the way."

One of the Black Hawks standing near Zaitan nodded, although he chose not to add any words to his assent. Miss Fortune tried to figure out whether it was because the Freljordian didn't usually say much or didn't want to. The man's silence did give her an idea. She looked towards the blue cloaks, recalling how Rafen had told her that they also came from the Freljord. Fate could get a few extra minutes if she could steer the conversation away from her. In the corner of her eye she could see him inching his way around the room. _Appealing to their shared heritage…_

"Well, that's a very charming proposal." She continued not to show any sign of fear. "And I'm sure you've got the backing of the Black Hawks with you to help carry out this task?"

"Of cours-"

"Now hold on here!" one of the blue cloaks interrupted Zaitan. "The influence of the Black Hawks must come with us and the Lord of Frost! They would not dare betray their brethren in a time of chaos!"

"With you?" Zaitan asked incredulously. "Don't make me laugh. The Lord of Frost is a weakling, a man who hides behind his crew and can't even get up the courage to personally discuss matters with the Black Hawks or me." He had looked away from Miss Fortune to give the blue cloaks a piece of his mind. All the while, Fate drew closer and closer to the counter with every step.

"Captain Boreas has more important matters to deal with tonight," the blue cloak argued, drawing out a gun. "And we will not let an insult upon the Lord of Frost go unanswered!" The men around him brandished their weapons, an assortment of swords and guns emerging from their owners' pockets and filling the air with the sound of metal being drawn out. The two men with Zaitan took out their own weapons, preparing for a confrontation.

"Lay down your arms, blue cloaks," Torggen ordered them, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger towards Miss Fortune. "It's clear that the vixen is trying to manipulate you in turning on each other when we all have the same goal here - to rid the harbor of the Bounty Hunter - do we not?" The Black Hawks seemed disinterested in actually starting a conflict, for none of them had drawn out weapons, or even rose from their seats.

Zaitan grunted. "He's right." Pulling a gun from the belt around his waist, he raised it pointed at Miss Fortune. "Get her out of the way, and we can do all the fighting we want." He grinned menacingly at her. "Savvy?"

She had lost sight of Fate. Where did he go when she needed him most? She hoped he hadn't chosen to simply duck out of the tavern and leave her to die. "Now just hold there for a second, I'm sure we can draw out a plan agreeable to all parties involved." Looking at the barrel of the gun the pirate lord held toward her made it much more difficult to keep her composure. Her voice nearly cracked when delivering the sentence, and she felt the sweat forming on her brow as death hung with its primal scythe over her head.

One of the blue cloaks stepped in. "We should give some consideration to the lady, actually. I'm sure keeping her alive would make things much less complicated to deal with, especially concerning what the remainder of her crew would do if she died here tonight. And we wouldn't want Paolo to have to clean up all the blood from the floor, would we?"

She didn't know what the Freljordians wanted to play at, but she supposed she had to be thankful for their attempted intercession. The threat of the blue cloaks turning on Zaitan might compel him to lower his gun, because they outnumbered him and his men, and he couldn't exactly rely on the Black Hawks to come to his aid when they looked more like a third party in the situation than anything else. He seemed to understand the implications, as he lowered his gun and went back to finishing his drink.

"That's alright," he conceded. "Mark my words, she'll be dead within two weeks."

Miss Fortune took a step backwards. What kind of empty threat was that? Was he seriously admitting to plotting to murder her in public? She didn't doubt that he had the influence and the means to do so, and even though she knew she could probably avoid detection for a period of that length to prove that he couldn't have his way with her, the words still sent a chill down her spine.

A gunshot rang through the air, and Miss Fortune instinctively ducked. It hadn't come from Zaitan or one of his men, because she would probably have felt the impact in her chest by now. Angry yells coming from both the blue cloaks and Zaitan's men resounded throughout the room while the onlookers and ordinary mercenaries in the tavern either made a break for the door or cowered in their seats. She could hear Zaitan yelp in pain and a couple more gunshots echoed through the air, sending the tavern into mass pandemonium. Lowering herself behind the wooden table, she heard a hissing sound and wisps of smoke begin to enter the common room, quickly filling up the air and obscuring her vision. She began to cough, shutting her eyes so the smoke wouldn't blind her, and tried to listen in on the situation. The dull thump of bodies colliding against each other made up the majority of the noise, and the gunshots seemed to stop going off with the lack of visibility, but she could still hear angry shouts and curses as everyone struggled to orient themselves. Had Fate managed to hit his target then? Was this his way of planning an escape for both of them? Miss Fortune knew she had to leave as quickly as she could, but the cramped space she had found herself in, along with the lack of her eyes to navigate her out of the inn, made moving a difficult task.

 _Tobias, you fool._

Getting up to her feet and still with her eyes tightly shut, she tried to take a few steps forward and found her legs shackled and unable to move. In her surprise she fell onto the ground, her face colliding with the floor and a sharp pain entering her knees. Soon her arms experienced the same restraining treatment, and a dizzy sensation entered her mind, the vertigo exponentially increasing before she finally succumbed to blackness.

She awoke in what she recognized as a state room aboard a ship, but the absence of the waves rocking underneath her suggested that she had remained on land in an uncanny imitation of the large cabin. She found herself sitting on a wooden chair, with leather straps around her torso binding her to the seat, but she had full movement of her arms and legs and could easily untie the straps to free herself completely. Whoever had subjected her to this treatment must have only used the straps to make sure she did not fall out of the seat.

An empty desk, equipped with a few pieces of parchment and an ink quill, and a leather armchair lay across from her. Looking around at her surroundings, the one window in the room lay directly in front of her above the armchair and gave her a view of a street in Bilgewater, the sidewalk dimly lit by a couple of street lamps. She couldn't make anything else out at this late of an hour, so she turned her attention to the interior, finding the red walls filled with numerous paintings of maritime environments - ships, naval battles, and portraits of reputable captains throughout history, some of which she recognized. To the left she spotted the sole entrance and exit to the room, a dark brown door which sprung open to reveal another person, whom she had guessed to be her captor.

"Hello, Sarah, it seems you're awake," the white-haired woman greeted her. It was not her natural hair color, as the greenish streaks which seemed to glow upon her locks indicated, but it gave her an enchanting appearance, further enhanced by the purple dress which draped her slight figure. The garment ran down to her thighs, giving Miss Fortune a good look at her long legs held up by a matching pair of purple heels. The cape which covered her back had the plumage of raven's feathers adorning it, a deep black giving a haunting mood to her appearance. The woman gave Miss Fortune a warm smile, but she felt no comfort from the smiles of devils, and she knew all too well that all this beauty had to come with a hefty price.

"You had no place sticking your head in at the Inn of Razors. Thought it might not have been your blood, the tavern runs red with the sins of unleashed wrath. Consider this a favor from the Black Rose," LeBlanc told her.

"What...so then, what are you doing with me, Emilia?" Miss Fortune dared to ask her.

"Trust me," the Deceiver assured her in that silky, satin voice. "I'm here to help."

* * *

 **A/N:** Took me over a week for the first three thousand and a half words. Took me two hours for the last 2500. Time is a silly thing, isn't it?

Here's my first real villain that will have development, Zaitan the guy that knows too much stuff. It was pretty fun making up a political situation in Bilgewater because Burning Tides didn't really say what MF would have to do, so this is the result of my imagination trying to do stuff with it. Quinn and her mates will eventually find herself walking in on this conflict, and then that will be even more fun.


	4. The Burning Blue Flame, Part 1

Maybe she should have gone to a different tavern. Maybe she should have gone down the other road. Maybe she shouldn't have come here at all.

When the captain had ordered them to go investigate the activities occurring in the port town while they sought to repair the damage caused to their ship and restock on supplies, she didn't expect to walk into a war zone. And although with the new knowledge that belligerent pirates could lurk around every corner, Quinn had adjusted her expectations, the port town continued to surprise her, because she definitely didn't expect such a motley band of misfits to come across her way as she went around town. Yet here she found herself in the company of a blue-furred yordle and a golden-coated robot, slightly tarnished by rust caused by exposure to the open sea air, on the completely wrong side of town, sitting in the shadows of some unmarked house where they had seen an olive-skinned man enter, who her company had pointed out as one of the prominent pirate lords, to avoid detection from the rings of pirates strafing the area.

"Why did I agree to help you two out again?" Quinn whispered to the yordle when the guards they watched had turned a corner and gotten out of earshot. Atop her shoulder, Valor raised his head slightly above the thicket to observe the scene unfolding in front of them.

"You were the one who wanted to know what was going on," Rumble shrugged as he adjusted his position in the bushes to get a better view of the house's entrance. "You saw what he was holding in his hand, right, Blitz? Call me a human's uncle if that wasn't a piece of parchment."

"I CAN CONFIRM YOUR SPECULATION," the steam golem backed him up, and although Blitzcrank had adequate volume controls on his person to lower his metallic voice down to the level of their whispers, Quinn still felt like the robot was projecting their location to every pirate in a half-mile radius with every word. "THE THICKNESS OF THE MATERIAL IN THE SUBJECT'S HANDS MATCHES WITH CORRESPONDING TEXTURE OF PAPER PRODUCTS."

"And as we all know well," Rumble continued excitedly, "pirates can't read. So what good does a piece of paper mean to him? He'd only understand if there were drawings on it. And the only pieces of paper with drawings on them around these parts can only mean one thing." Even at the late hour, Quinn could make out the gold glint in the yordle's eyes. "A treasure map."

The corsair groaned. She'd always known the little mechanic as somewhat of an opportunist, but even she didn't think he would conjure up some wild delusions of treasure buried on some tropical island or sunk beneath the waves that the pirate they watched was gunning for. "The whole illiteracy stereotype only goes back a hundred years ago where no one could read," she corrected him. "You see mariners do business by contracts all the time nowadays. Sarah can definitely read, and I'm sure even Gangplank had made a deal signing his name at least once."

Her short history lesson did little to impress upon Rumble, who still maintained a wicked grin on his face. "I'll give you Miss Fortune, but Gangplank? That salty dog? Didn't you hear the stories, how he stabbed his own father in the back to get that ship? The only contracts he'd sign are the ones he'd fill out with the other person's blood. He was probably the only guy on Valoran to piss off Zed and get away with it."

Rumble turned his attention back on the door, his ears perking up when they heard the sound of the door opening, only to find two of the man's lackeys exiting the house instead of the olive-skinned man. "It makes perfect sense, too. The Saltwater Scourge dead. Bilgewater in chaos, and all these up-and-coming pirates want to be the one true king. Or queen, if you're Miss Fortune. And in the wake of the old salt's death, he leaves behind a hidden treasure… and you can find it with that treasure map!" he pointed into the house triumphantly.

Quinn didn't like where he took the conversation. "You can keep living with your delusions and I'll focus on what's really important. I don't think you realize that Gangplank is _dead._ One of the League's champions."

Rumble didn't seem to grasp the full meaning behind her statement. "Figured it was only a matter of time before someone kicked the bucket around here," he shrugged.

The untimely death of the Saltwater Scourge did put a wrench into Quinn's agenda as a representative of the Demacian monarchy and as a champion of the League of Legends. The Institute, a faculty created for the purpose of abolishing large scale conflict, would have to deal with massive amounts of complaints from its critics when the public would hear of Gangplank's death, even though few on the mainland ever held much respect from the tyrannical pirate king and many might actually see his demise as a step forward in the process of spreading peace throughout Valoran. She knew the Institute would have to conduct some sort of investigation to find out the reason behind the death, and if Demacia could take the first steps towards acquiring pertinent information, it would prove quite a boon towards relations between the Institute and the monarchy.

Her first glance at the Bilgewater nightlife didn't exactly impress her. She figured sailors and pirates and persons of importance alike would gravitate towards one interest and one interest only - taverns, and her intuition struck true when she noticed a commotion building up at a certain establishment, the Inn of Razors, if memory struck her correctly. Quinn had hoped her attire wouldn't attract too much attention. As someone unfamiliar with the etiquette (or lack thereof) of apparel on the open sea, she had selected her outfit with some help from one of the rear admiral's secretaries and Luxanna Crownguard out of all people, the latter of whom had decided on the part of her bangs dyed red streaking down the right side of her face. "It's putting a little spunk in your looks," the light mage informed her. "Gives off the feisty vibe." Quinn couldn't help but wonder if Lux realized that the ranger was going on a dangerous mission towards one of the most lawless corners of Valoran, not to one of the countless royal banquets held in the state or one of Demacia's lively taverns.

She pulled up the low-cut purple top once again in vain, relying on the orange Kaladoun-made scarf wrapped around her neck to compensate for all the skin she did not want to show. Her gender in a sketchy environment like Bilgewater would likely bring about some unwanted attention; she had always wondered how Sarah had managed, but the bounty hunter did spend nearly her entire life learning the ways of the sea and had familiarized herself with its capricious lifestyle and the less-than-decent motives of those who made it their careers. Quinn couldn't quite claim a similar experience, and she ran a hand through her hair hoping to style it in as masculine of a way as possible to disguise her appearance. Taking a deep breath, she approached the entrance, her awareness reaching levels of hypersensitivity as she dreaded what she might find past its doors.

Atop her left shoulder, Valor gently nipped at her ear, sensing her anxiety. She gave him a dismissive pat on the head and tried to play it off as best she could. "It's alright, Val, we should be fine. Just going to step in for ten minutes and take a look around town."

The sound of gunshots going off on the other side of the wall of the tavern made Quinn hesitate for more than a few seconds, and while she continued to stare stupidly at the tavern entrance she suddenly felt a gripping sensation wrapping around her waist, pulling her into the air and back away from the Inn of Razors. She felt Valor's weight leave her shoulder, the eagle squawking in surprise as she moved away from him. Her sudden velocity caused her to lose her balance, but a hard metallic surface prevented her from falling, and she recoiled upon hitting it. After her sudden disorientation, she remembered where she had experienced such a strange feeling - the displacement could only come from a certain champion whose Rocket Grab would often bring you into the worst possible place to fight on the Fields of Justice. Once the initial period of shock had worn off, Quinn whirled around, correctly expecting Blitzcrank's expressionless face, but not the pointy-eared blue yordle standing beside him.

"You didn't have to pull her like that, Blitz," Rumble scolded the robot.

"YOU HAD SAID, AND I QUOTE, 'I WONDER WHAT IS UP WITH QUINN?'" Blitzcrank deadpanned. "THUS I BELIEVED IT THE MOST EFFICIENT WAY TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION BY BRINGING YOUR QUERY TO YOU."

Getting a closer look at the two of them, while Blitzcrank's appearance rarely changed, if ever, Quinn spotted a very odd choice of clothes on Rumble: a blue doublet which matched the color of his fur and a pair of brown pants held up by a very large belt fastened high around his waist, upon which hung a very eccentric dagger. The eyepatch covering his left eye completed his ridiculous look, and the ranger couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at his getup.

Dusting herself off from her collision with Blitzcrank's hull, she turned on the yordle. "So I'm not sure what to question first, what you two are doing here or why you're rocking that stupid eyepatch."

"It is not stupid!" Rumble replied, visibly affronted. "It's important to get into character. You know the saying, when in Noxus…"

"That's not the point," she interrupted him. Quinn decided on a different approach. Addressing the steam golem would probably give her better results. "Maybe you can tell me what's going on and be reasonable about it, Blitz."

"THE ESTABLISHMENT YOU WISHED TO ENTER IS CALLED THE 'INN OF RAZORS.' IT IS NOTORIOUS FOR BEING THE PREFERRED MEETING PLACE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS PIRATES ROAMING AROUND THE TOWN OF BILGEWATER. I SURMISE THAT, SINCE THE ALLEGED DEATH OF THE SALTWATER SCOURGE, VARIOUS GROUPS ARE CONGREGATING THERE TO MAKE NEGOTIATIONS REGARDING THE FUTURE OF THE PORT TOWN."

She wouldn't quite use the word 'negotiations,' but… The golem's words caused her to double-take. "Hold on for a second. Did you say the Saltwater Scourge is dead? Like, Gangplank? _That_ pirate king?"

"That's the talk around these parts," Rumble chimed in. "It was just yesterday, too. Suddenly his whole fleet just went up in flames while he was on it _._ People who were on the docks when the whole explosion went down said they saw a couple of guys pop up from the wreckage upon a floating piece of driftwood and hightail it back to shore, but their faces were so dirty from the mess that they couldn't make out who they were. Before anyone could ask them anything they just mysteriously vanished into thin air or something. Probably just a couple of his crew's survivors, but you never know…"

Quinn gulped. "If what you're saying is true, then… in there…" She turned her eyes back to the tavern across the street, where several regulars had ran out through the main doors, some of them grumbling to themselves, but most in a mix of shock and anger. A large group of men in blue cloaks quickly fled the scene with a great mob of sailors chasing them out, while four of five others dressed in all black quietly watched the chaos unfold. From inside the tavern Quinn could make out a thick cloud of grey smoke, although from what she could tell there didn't appear to be any signs of a fire.

"Looks like their talks didn't go so well," Rumble chuckled. "You'll be wanting to stay out of the way of the main streets for a while. Don't be surprised if you find bodies lying around tomorrow morning." He appraised her with a curious look. "So I've been wondering, what brings a girl like you to this neck of the woods? Not exactly the prettiest place on Valoran. You sure you didn't mean to head for Ionia?"

She didn't know exactly how much she could divulge to the pair, but she figured a couple of fellow League champions deserved some amount of trust out of her. "Official business with the Demacian Royal Navy. We had to stop here to get supplies and restock, but it looks like things are pretty crazy around here. I should probably go back to the ship and tell the captain about Gangplank -"

"That's all the talk on the street's been, your crew's bound to hear about it sooner or later. If you're stuck here until you get enough supplies, then you'll be around for a while. Surely you have a couple of hours to spare to tag along with us for a while? Us champs have to stick together, you know," Rumble goaded her.

"I don't know about this…" Quinn started to say, and Valor squawked in equal skepticism.

"C'mon, Quinn, where's your sense of adventure?" Rumble might've jabbed her in the ribs had he stood at an equal height with her, but the best he could do was poke at her leg in a strange way which caused her to squirm away from him and give her even less incentive to accompany them.

"Somewhere very far away from here." She started to move away from them, eager to conclude her business with the odd pair, but another pull from Blitz corralled her back into their company as Rumble made a show of pointing down the street to a trio of men doing their best to leave the tavern in the chaos without being noticed.

"That's one of the pirates that served under Gangplank!" Rumble exclaimed, pointing to the one in the middle, an olive-skinned man with long braided locks running down both sides of his face. "Don't really know what he's called, but I remember I've seen him tagging along with that old salt a few times when he was still walking around. Doesn't he look suspicious right now?"

Quinn's years of tailing criminals, both Noxian and Demacian alike, attuned her to all the red flags the man threw up. Compared to the two men standing to either side, he walked with the composure of a man on death row, anxiously clutching some possession in his hands he tried desperately to conceal as they skirted along the edge of the mob still running after the blue cloaks. When the mob had turned ninety degrees to chase their quarry towards the harbor, the olive-skinned man pointed down the street urgently and getting his two companions to follow him. When they had made enough distance away from the mob they increased their pace and soon turned the corner, threatening to get out of sight.

"We should follow them!" the yordle suggested, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I'm sure wherever they're headed is bound to lead us somewhere interesting!"

Despite knowing full well that each time she believed any of Rumble's statements she would find herself in greater danger, Quinn had to agree. If she wanted to get to the bottom of the situation, to find out the circumstances behind Gangplank's death and what really happened amidst the burning tides, then she would have to take the first step and search for the truth. She pursed her lips tightly. "Alright. Let's do this."

Valor looked at her questioningly. "I trust you'll keep me safe, Val. I just need you to trust me back." The eagle seemed to understand, again nipping at her ear and giving her some much-needed confidence. She wasn't about to turn around and run now.

"Glad you decided to join," Rumble said. "Alright team, let's move out!" He hopped into Blitzcrank's arms, and the four of them headed down the dimly lit streets in pursuit of the olive-skinned man.

That series of events had brought her to where they lay now, and during the walk Rumble had filled her in on what business he and Blitzcrank had themselves. Rumble served as the engineer for one of Bandle City's ships since the nautical craze had struck the land of the yordles as well, using his mechanical prowess to ensure no malfunctions would arise if difficulties struck them on the open sea. Unfortunately, he couldn't extend his services to check out the damage the Noxian ship had done to the Gryphon since he had restricted himself to only helping out Bandle ships simply out of a prideful principle of not giving humans any sort of advantage he had acquired for himself and yordlekind. Blitzcrank had accompanied him on orders from Ziggs, himself one of the few coveted blast mages around Valoran, in order to gather information about the various kinds of demolitions the other countries used and how best to develop magecraft in such way that it could prevent all kinds of cannonballs no matter the material used to construct them.

"I thought Ziggs was the kind of person who'd like to see explosions happen, not prevent them," Quinn said.

"Well, the explosion does happen anyways," Rumble told her. "It just goes off on the poor sap that tried to fire it in the first place."

"I WAS TOLD THAT ACHIEVING MASTERY OF THE CRAFT OF THE BLAST MAGES WAS ESSENTIAL TO THE FOCUS OF ZIGGS' WORK AND THAT IT MUST DISTINCTLY BECOME A BANDLE CITY TRADEMARK," Blitzcrank chimed in.

"That's right." Rumble crossed his arms. "Wouldn't want any of our knowledge to be outsourced to those goons in Piltover."

Before meeting him in Bilgewater, Quinn really hadn't seen much good to ever come out of Rumble, who she only remembered as a tech junkie hobbled up in his mech suit constantly making repairs and modifications and talking to himself about how great 'Tristy' was, and at that juncture Quinn couldn't even tell whether he referred to the mech or to the Megling Gunner. He had hardly kept his infatuation with his fellow champion Tristana a secret to any member of the League who had at least any sense of basic observation skills, but Rumble found his fortune doubly compromised when he found that not only did she not return his affection, but that rumors had spread of her already spending some private time with a certain Swift Scout. And Rumble didn't need any more reasons to despiste Teemo.

It quickly became evident, even within the short time span of about fifteen minutes that they took to walk up the small hill which the olive-skinned man had went up, that Quinn had given an undeserved characterization to Rumble when they had first crossed paths in the League. Sure, he probably still had an unreasonable hatred for Heimerdinger and the students of his Academy who had chosen to pack up and take their knowledge and blueprints of the newest yordlecraft fashions to Piltover, but she had listened to him rant on about the precarious economic crisis Bandle had found itself in ever since they had lost the right to patent some of Heimerdinger's more effective inventions. The extra royalties had made their way into the coffers of the City of Progress' already stacked treasury, while Bandle found the potential for its resurgence swept away. Thus they turned towards the trade of taking to the seas, hoping to spread their ideas with the use of small, swift-sailing ships more designed for speed rather than the combative capabilities Demacia and Noxus focused on. With the services of blast mages coming into high demand, Ziggs had found another product on the market that the yordles could use to their advantage, and Rumble and Blitzcrank had become living examples of the reinvigorated Bandle City dream.

So just when Rumble had begun to appear to her as a promising guy full of good intentions, he immediately threw it away with his crazed talk of a hidden treasure on a map which may or may not exist at all in the clutches of one of the dangerous pirate lords outside whose house they found themselves in. Quinn wanted to finally tell him off right then and there when the door had suddenly flung open and a couple of dark figures quickly made their way out. A large cloud of smoke, similar to the one they had seen at the Inn of Razors, except this one purple in color, served as the backdrop to their exit as they quickly parted ways without a word. One of them, who wore a hood to obscure their face, walked directly away from them and quickly disappeared around the street corner, but Quinn found the other figure slightly more recognizable. Even though she couldn't make out the face, the extravagant purple outfit with traces of ravens' feathers on the cape couldn't fool an avian enthusiast like herself. She watched the Deceiver stop for a second, confirming that she held a very curious piece of paper in her gloved hand, before disappearing into the night air in a smaller puff of purple smoke.

"That - that was LeBlanc!" Quinn told her companions incredulously.

She heard Rumble spit. "Okay, so I can't say that there's a treasure map out there on the loose, but you can make up stories of Noxians being down here? Give me a break."

"I swear it was her," Quinn tried to explain. "I've seen her wear that costume a couple of times on the Fields of Justice, and the way she just disappeared in an instant, and all that purple smoke…"

"THE RANGER HAS A POINT." Quinn silently thanked Blitzcrank for taking her side. "SUCH OBSCURE THEATRICS ARE VERY CHARACTERISTIC OF THE BEHAVIORS EXHIBITED IN EMILIA LEBLANC."

Rumble still didn't look convinced, but he decided to drop the issue. "Yeah, whatever, two against one, I get it. I did see that whoever it was, they had that piece of paper the pirate guy was carrying around. So maybe with this I've convinced you? It had to be valuable if someone wanted to steal it. What else could it be but a secret treasure map?" He rubbed his hands in glee.

Even though she wanted to say that the already very wealthy Noxians wouldn't have to drop to the level of going after a pirate's hidden treasure, Quinn decided not to argue with him anymore, now that they had more pressing matters to discuss. "Maybe the Noxians were involved with Gangplank's death? It would make sense, as he's angered them before." She recalled one particularly infamous heist, where the pirate king had managed to evade the entirety of High Command's fleet and make off with the Grand General's flagship, the Leviathan. For a good two weeks whenever she passed Swain in the aviary in the Institute, Quinn had refused to even make eye contact with him, fearing the tactician to go off at any second and perhaps even turn into a giant demon bird and eat her.

"Hmm, you might have a point there," Rumble scratched his chin. "The important thing about this is that the map's no longer in the clutches of Gangplank's cronies. This," he threw up his hands dramatically, "mysterious perpetrator…"

"LeBlanc," Quinn chimed in unceremoniously.

"Ahem! I'm the one telling the story here." Rumble cleared his throat. "Anyways, this person, whoever they may be - and let's not forget, they have an accomplice. I hope you haven't forgotten about the man in the hood who went the other way. I don't suppose you have an idea for who could that be?"

"Not a clue," Quinn shook her head. "There wasn't anything notable about that guy's outfit compared to LeBlanc's, so my guess is as good as yours."

"Well, in any case, I came here for the map." Rumble started to head in the direction of where LeBlanc had disappeared, but realized that following a trail of smoke would prove difficult, to say the least. "Ehh… maybe that might be a bit too hard. The other guy, though, do you think you can find where he's going?"

Quinn looked at Valor, who chirped up in affirmation. Taking to the skies, he flew off up and over the street corner where Quinn had last seen him, and she started to get out of the bushes to follow his trail. They began to walk down the street when Blitzcrank nudged her in the side and pointed out a commotion blocking the streets. She spied quite a few torches in the possession of the group of people, perhaps twenty-five strong, and not at all something with which she'd like to associate.

"WE APPEAR TO HAVE COMPANY," the golem droned.

"Looks like a bunch of the pirates heard what happened here and want to investigate," Quinn guessed. "It's probably best to get out of here."

"Huh? I ain't scared of no landlubbers. If anyone tries to come at us, they'll have a taste of my fresh steel," Rumble promised. While she wanted to point out that a dagger was no great sword, or even a cutlass, Quinn didn't bother talking and simply headed down another street perpendicular to the direction from which the mob came. If they didn't follow her, she wouldn't mind, but she soon heard the sound of Blitzcrank's motorized steps behind her, and they managed to slip out of the way without too much attention drawn to them.

"I don't think it's safe to try to follow that guy any further tonight. We've already lost time getting away from the mob, and I'll have to head back to the ship soon anyways. If Val's found anything, I'll let you two know tomorrow or something," Quinn decided.

"Aww, but that's no fun! We can't get anywhere without Valor telling us where the guy went!" Rumble complained.

"Well, you're welcome to stay out as late as you want," Quinn shrugged, "but don't come crying to me if you find yourself on the menu for the pirates' next meal. I've heard stories of some desperate men skewering the yordles chefs on board when the crew ran out of food, you know."

Rumble looked positively disgusted. "That… those stories aren't even true!"

"I wouldn't take my chances. Where are you guys staying? We'll meet up and talk stuff over later." She began walking back to the harbor - because of the recent events happening, they couldn't find enough rooms at the inns near the harbor to house the entire crew, so the captain decided they'd simply stay aboard the ship overnight so he could have an easier time checking up on everyone.

The yordle groaned in resignation. "The Golden Hind. It's a couple of streets off from the main harbor way, but it's not too long of a walk. We can meet in its common room."

Quinn accepted. "I'll come around at nine or so." With that, they parted ways, and she headed for the harbor as quickly as possible. It wouldn't do for her, or anyone walking alone, to wander the streets this late at night, especially considering the unrest going on from the earthshaking events going on at the house of the pirate and the Inn of Razors. She turned onto another street which would lead her straight to the end of the bay where they had docked the ship when she nearly ran into a lone figure.

From her years of wandering the streets of Noxus late at night, where strange rituals, odd individuals, and dangerous criminals abounded, Quinn didn't scare easily. She never felt alone, not when she had Valor around, and even though he couldn't speak to her she could always reach out to him, act on the same wavelength, feel truly connected, and with that bond what kind of fear could ever reach her?

This one did. Even with Valor off tracking the mysterious hooded man, Quinn didn't think her partner's reassuring presence could stave off the terror she felt as it drew closer. Like most solitary individuals which she saw that night, it wore a hood to mask its appearance, and its thick black cloak took away any hints she could make about its identity as she couldn't guess at any kind of body type. It definitely looked slender, although she figured its design played a part of it. It stood much taller than her, a towering presence which intimidated her into taking a few steps backwards as it approached her, wielding an oversized scythe as thin as a rapier. She struggled to pull out the bow attached to her back, fumbling with the strings as she tried to defend herself, but the figure never raised its scythe at her, instead walking to the side before turning to her with that empty look from its hood.

Quinn tensed up as she could feel its hidden eyes trained on her. She could easily pull the bow into her hands with one gesture, although she didn't know if she could outspeed the swing of its scythe if it chose to attack at this distance. What did it want from her? She didn't have anything to do with the pirates, with Gangplank, with anything going on in Bilgewater.

"I have not come for you tonight." With the single statement, in a tone so neutral Quinn couldn't even identify its gender, the figure left her, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as she had seen it appear in front of her.

A very much shaken Quinn walked up the plank connecting the harbor to the Gryphon ten minutes later with Valor back in tow atop her shoulder. From what he had found, the figure had made its way towards the edge of Bilgewater, slipping out of town and towards the cliffs near the other end of the bay. If they went there together, he would show her more information, but at that moment he couldn't communicate more to her without the ability to speak and use words.

Jeb welcomed her back and offered her a cold piece of bread. Ordinarily Quinn would have declined, as she didn't particularly care for the ship's spare rations when she had already dined at one of the inns on the harbor, but her adventures with Rumble and Blitzcrank, as well as the mysterious scythe-wielding figure, made her grateful for anything she could sink her teeth in, no matter how stale she found it.

"Find anything interesting 'round town?" he asked her.

Quinn shook her head and said a few noncommittal things. She chose to keep her meeting with Rumble and Blitzcrank a secret, not because she didn't trust Jeb, or any of the ship's crew for that matter, but she didn't feel ready to share their speculation of the possibility of a treasure map existing. Captain Perris didn't believe in any superstitions that sailors commonly believed in, a no-nonsense type who dealt with business quietly and effectively. It wouldn't bring anything useful to the table if she told them about that strange piece of paper, especially the part when she had seen LeBlanc and another person escape the pirates' base of operations with it. What were the Noxians doing in Bilgewater? What did they want from the remnants of Gangplank's subjects? Were they responsible for his death? Quinn figured she'd get the answers to those questions soon enough when the morning came, but the only thing she felt she could trust Jeb with, oddly enough, was the matter of the mysterious scythe wielder. She wondered if he knew anything about it - after all, he had gone to Bilgewater a few times before.

"There was one thing that was strange, I guess," Quinn admitted. "On my way back to the ship, I ran into this really creepy hooded figure. It's kind of hard to explain, but… I felt genuine terror from it. I drew my bow cause I thought it wanted to attack me, but it just looked at me and passed by. Something about not coming for me tonight."

Jeb straightened up. "What sort of guy was this? What kind of weapon did he have?"

"It was a really strange thing to use," Quinn continued. "A really thin scythe, but super sharp all the same."

"This ain't good," Jeb lowered his voice to a whisper, scooting closer on the bench to Quinn. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt, but that thing is all kinds of bad news to this town every time it shows up."

Quinn tilted her head. "Hmm? Why is that?"

Jeb fished a lighter out of his pocket, putting it to a cigar and setting the flame to it. "They call that reaper Avarice, although no one knows where they got that name. But we do know this for sure. Every time she comes around, someone in Bilgewater is killed."

"Killed?" She felt her heartbeat quicken, remembering the terror she felt when it passed by. "So it didn't come for me… but it had another target out there."

"Must be so," Jeb said grimly. "And every time people find the body, there's a message written in their blood on the floor or on the wall next to them. 'You will pay your price.'"

* * *

 **A/N:** dear god that took a while. I didn't know what I wanted to include in this chapter for the longest time but eventually I got an idea for some interesting stuff to happen at the end. If this is messy I apologize, parts were written all over the place timespan wise and I can't look at this any more for a while lol.

But yeah, I hope this is a lot more intriguing than Trinity's start. I wonder who LeBlanc's friend is?


	5. The Burning Blue Flame, Part 2

Miss Fortune knew all the stories people spread around about her - ruthless, conniving, and stunning to behold. She had the confidence to understand that only the most reckless of fools would dare to take her on toe to toe. Despite the widespread tales of her beauty and ferocity, another woman on Valoran less renown pulled off the combination much better than her. LeBlanc served as the true embodiment of what people imagined when they thought of 'if looks could kill.' The public could draw up little factual information about her; instead, dubious rumors spread regarding the leader of the shadowy Noxian-based organization called the Black Rose, an esoteric cult whose origins dated back to the aristocracy hundreds of years ago. Some claimed her to be an ageless sorceress hailing from a Runeterra of old where magic roamed the land wild and unrestrained, while others believed her not human at all, but rather a succubus from the Shadow Isles, taking on the form of a bewitching matron to lure unsuspecting people into her cult where she could then claim them as victims. All of them agreed on her enchanting appearance, her countenance the prime example of haunting youth, a disingenuous piece of art which frightened as much as it attracted. She would hardly look out of place wrapped around the arm of a state official, yet Miss Fortune could also easily visualize the same figure strike them down with a pair of deadly golden chains before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

She had approached Miss Fortune one day on the grounds of the Institute with a walk one might find on the runways of the trendiest fashion expositions in Piltover, a confident swagger in her step which might have altered the state of gravity for a second, because Miss Fortune found herself tugged towards her direction for a second before regaining her balance. The bounty hunter slightly furrowed her brow. LeBlanc didn't do chance encounters. Her associations with others often took on a discrete, if not downright conspicuous, mood. LeBlanc rarely sought out individuals to talk to outside of the Noxian champions, and those she did pull over seldom left her company in good spirits. Still, Miss Fortune felt sufficiently protected on Institute ground and didn't think the sorceress had any material to threaten her in any way, so she received the Deceiver's advance evenly and patiently watched for what business the matron might want with her.

"It has been one of the finest pleasures to make your acquaintance, Captain," she greeted her. Miss Fortune barely batted an eye. She'd dealt with thousands of flatterers before, although none of them as dangerous as her. Still, she had only recently rose to the position, a matter she did her best to keep locked down lest she find herself a popular target of Gangplank's nefarious sea hounds.

"You seem surprised that I've come by this information," the Deceiver said, reading her skeptical look perfectly. "Let's just say I've got friends in many places."

"Go on with your business, LeBlanc." Miss Fortune didn't rush her words, but gave off the slightest hint of impatience. She'd make sure to convey her own messages, and a person skilled in the art of deception and reading others would undoubtedly catch onto her intent, which LeBlanc soon did.

"With an entire crew at your disposal you'll have a lot more freedom and influence around Bilgewater. It would make avenging the death of your mother that much easier." Miss Fortune did her best not to flinch, but beneath her icy exterior that old wound jabbed her like coals burning through the snow. Seeing her attempt to save face, LeBlanc grinned wickedly and continued on. "While I cannot deliver your nemesis directly into your hands, I know of one of his close underlings who has just come back from a voyage to to the Freljord. He has stopped by in Noxus, and the establishment which has given him hospitality is conveniently under the jurisdiction of the Black Rose. Though the man is blissfully unaware, he is at my mercy to hand over to you at any time I desire. Are you not interested?"

Miss Fortune had heard enough lies and told even more to understand that LeBlanc spoke the truth. But she didn't know what connection this noname henchman could possibly have to the pirate king. "I am a bounty hunter, yes, but there are more than enough names on the lips of Bilgewater gossip for me to strike men down for an eternity. If it doesn't help me get closer to Gangplank, I'm not interested."

The matron shifted her weight excitedly, as if waiting for Miss Fortune to prompt her. "Ah, but the connection is quite clear. By destroying the parts of his inner circle, it makes it that much easier to break through, is it not? This man is no ordinary underling, I can assure you. He is the captain of the Phoenix, a name I'm sure you'll find quite significant, as well as the man in charge of the raiding network which has made the pirate king so wealthy."

Her last statements genuinely surprised Miss Fortune. "But… you would be talking about Cordera. You mean to say he was the mastermind behind all the gold flowing into their fleet?"

"The ledgers of the inn in which he is staying do read one Esteban Cordera," LeBlanc affirmed. "And all you have to do is accept this act of charity, and in half an hour I will have him in chains, neatly wrapped up for you to take for yourself."

Charity wasn't a word that existed in the vernacular of the streets of Bilgewater. Everyone looked for a price, and underneath the sugary words LeBlanc poured into her ear Miss Fortune could see the calculated, scheming look in her eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing but a small commission from your bounty," the Deceiver replied. "I have heard that Cordera has an old map of Valoran in his possession with some curious markings in the northwestern corner of the map, where they say the Shadow Isles lie. You will bring the parchment to me and share with me all the knowledge you possess about the charts of the sea in regards to this particular document."

No matter how smooth LeBlanc could deliver her request, she couldn't make it sound any less ridiculous to Miss Fortune. She had little to lose by parting with a map whose existence she didn't even know of until a few seconds ago, so she nearly accepted the offer right there, but for LeBlanc to openly display her curiosity, and her desire for some dubious artifact meant it had a value not wholly insignificant. With the pressure of the negotiation tilted slightly onto LeBlanc's side, Miss Fortune felt she could press a few inquiries.

"Forwarding it to you won't be a problem, but this is an uncharacteristic impulse for you, Matron. Why do you seek it so much if its details are that unclear to you?"

If she thought she could make LeBlanc retreat, she thought wrong. "I do not need to personally understand its value in relation to me. However, Gangplank's men seem to hold it in quite high esteem, and the interests of the Black Rose overlap with quite a few other groups. Your own agenda is one of them. Wouldn't it be convenient if we were to satiate my curiosity and your vendetta with the same stroke? Quite a work of art, I would say."

Miss Fortune didn't have quite the eye for paintings that some more cultured soul like Sona Buvelle or the Duchess Karma would, but she felt pretty confident that one did not rate paintings by their efficiency. Still, she had carefully considered the deal the entire conversation, and eventually she accepted the deal, if a bit halfheartedly. Regardless, she would fulfill her side of the bargain without hesitation, but once she had the head of Cordera she would quickly cut ties with the Deceiver and go back to working independently. Nothing good could come out of continued association with the Black Rose.

LeBlanc extended her hand, and Miss Fortune reached out to shake it, a gesture of their alliance. She expected the sorceress' hand to come off a little cold, and she did twitch a little at the difference in temperature, but she maintained her grip, making sure to keep eye contact with the woman even after their hands parted. And when she took back her hand, she felt a bizarre burning sensation, as if she had made contact with charcoal in a fireplace instead of another human being's appendages.

"Prepare any belongings that you wish to take with you and meet me at the outer gates in half an hour. We will transport to Noxus at that time," LeBlanc instructed when she began to take her leave. She never explained what kind of transportation they would go by, or how it would arrive, but Miss Fortune nodded anyways and briskly went off to her own quarters to gather her required possessions - her keepsake dual guns Shock and Awe not the least valuable amongst them.

When she met the Deceiver at the golden gates outside the Institute of War, she should have expected that LeBlanc wouldn't have meant a physical vehicle to take them to the east. Instead, LeBlanc held a small mechanical device in her hand, a "conduit," as she had informed Miss Fortune. Similar to the portals which the celestial being named Bard could construct, a conduit made a violet portal appear in the surface of a wall, through which one could see a glimpse of the destination they wished to go to. Stepping through would send them into some alternate dimension, the exact physics of which were lost on Miss Fortune, and eventually bring them physically to said destination. Such devices came only from the Institute of War itself and the High Councillors limited distributing them to those with special cases. When the Emperor of the Sands revealed himself as resurrected from the sands of history, the Institute had allowed him a conduit to ease travels from the Shurima Desert to the Institute and vice versa; they had also given one to Mordekaiser, the unofficial head of the representatives from the Shadow Isles, in a deal whose details only the undead champions and the High Councillors knew.

Miss Fortune didn't bother asking LeBlanc as to what kind of negotiations she had to pull in order to convince the High Councillors to share with her so powerful of an object, and after a preliminary explanation of how exactly the conduit worked, LeBlanc held out the metallic object towards the nearest wall, summoning forth the portal and quickly making her way through it. Building up her resolve and courage, the bounty hunter followed.

Surprisingly, the rest of the journey went along exactly as planned without any undesirable delays or interruptions. Miss Fortune summarily apprehended Cordera and left his body to the mercy of the nocturnal horrors which prowled the streets of Noxus, and just as LeBlanc had said, she quickly found the map amongst the pirate's possessions. Upon bringing it to LeBlanc, however, they could not glean any useful information from the occult markings they had found in several places. The northwest corner of the map, the Duskwind Sea, had various glyphs scribbled in the area, and they had noted some similar markings near the Blue Flame Islands, Ionia, and some smaller inlets off the southern coast of Valoran near the Kumungu Jungle. LeBlanc seemed rather annoyed at Miss Fortune, perhaps thinking that she tried to deliberately withhold information from her, but the bounty hunter legitimately had no idea what the strange markings could mean. With the map going to LeBlanc's possession in the end, she had realized that she wouldn't come to any harm even if Miss Fortune had lied to her, so after a rather half-hearted expression of gratitude for her cooperation, LeBlanc left the bounty hunter with many more questions than answers.

Removing Cordera did make her advances towards power in Bilgewater much easier, she had to admit. With the bulk of Gangplank's source of gold coming to a screeching halt due to the man leading his treasury being deposed, the pirate king had to give up quite a few holdings of establishments on the Bilgewater mainland because he no longer had the funds to support them. Miss Fortune immediately snatched them up the moment they found their way back on the market, having set her eyes on quite a few taverns previously under his hand a few years back. The purpose of the establishments in particular were not so important as the location and stigma they held, and Miss Fortune had wanted to consolidate the property she owned into a quadrant of town where most of the stores belonging to her lined up consecutively. She would take one corner of Bilgewater for her own while Gangplank had to constantly worry about the other three quadrants not falling into his rivals' hands, leaving Miss Fortune with much more room to maneuver.

She certainly wished she had that space as she lingered in the chair, not physically bound because she could free herself from her bonds if she wished to, but rather intimidated into staying put as LeBlanc surveyed her with the watchful eyes of a hawk, almost daring her to make a move. Miss Fortune patiently waited for her to explain her predicament, seeing that the Deceiver had everything in her control at that point and she was in no position to express her irritation at her uncomfortable situation, despite how terribly weak and exposed she felt.

"The fauna of the Shadow Isles, contrary to popular belief," LeBlanc said, chatting aimlessly as if she had just invited Miss Fortune to tea, "are quite spectacular. Or so the Spider Queen tells me. In the early spring, in certain parts of the isles, the plants muster just enough strength to attract the meanest and most wretched of birds. It is from such ravens that these feathers are taken, and they are surprisingly comfy."

Miss Fortune chose not to respond, continuing her silent waiting as LeBlanc took even more liberties and took a seat at the table opposite her, admiring the tablecloth by running a smooth hand over the surface, paying not a whit of attention to her captive for the longest of minutes before finally turning her gaze to the bounty hunter and staring into her eyes with her own sinister onyx orbs.

"I have more to thank of Elise, as a matter of fact," the Deceiver continued. "She has heard whispers, hushed voices all over Runeterra that brings me to your humble isle tonight. Do you know whose residence you are staying in at the moment?"

"I would assume this isn't yours," Miss Fortune replied tersely.

LeBlanc turned back to the tablecloth. "To get to the bottom of this question, we'll have to rewind a bit. The map that we had taken from Cordera, you remember our little alliance, I'm sure. It remained in my possession, collecting dust on the shelves and exhibiting little value in of itself, but it seems that another person had realized its potential. It is with the biggest shame that I must admit that I had let the map fall out of my clutches."

Miss Fortune never expected such a revelation from LeBlanc, both admitting that someone had outwitted her and admitting that the same person had taken what she had owned and guarded. "Do you know who did it?"

"The man was quite impressive, getting into the headquarters of the Black Rose, I have to say," the matron said. "But he showed much less care in actually getting out of Noxus. It was quite child's play to track him back to his origins, and as you can imagine, this brought me right here to Bilgewater."

"Someone down here has it?" Miss Fortune thought for a second before instantly realizing what LeBlanc could mean. "Another of Gangplank's crew, you mean."

"Very good, Sarah." LeBlanc sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and flashing a smile, a gesture which appeared so innocuous and genuine that Miss Fortune almost felt comforted by it. And that scared her most of all, the very notion of such a creature so diabolical and cunning to masquerade as kindness itself.

"It didn't take me long to figure out who it was out of the pirate lords jostling for the top position of ruler of Bilgewater. His plans went flawlessly, at least for the first act, but like a true Noxian tragedy, his world will soon come crumbling down due to his disgusting hubris. And only one of Gangplank's lackeys could exhibit so much arrogance and still almost make it work. The desert warrior from the Barrier. Zaitan."

Miss Fortune gave a start. He seemed to play a much more pivotal role in their game of power than he anticipated. How much interest did LeBlanc actually have in Bilgewater? The front of wanting to reclaim her map back seemed true enough, but as she knew very well, every good lie begins fabricated in the web of truth. And she had more to think than the Deceiver's true intentions. Now she had to wonder if Zaitan played as a true king on the waterfront or would turn out to be just a lowly pawn.

And the implications didn't stop there. "You mean to say that this house belongs to Zaitan."

The sorceress gave the slightest of nods. "It's surprisingly high class, wouldn't you say?"

Normally Miss Fortune wouldn't show so much concern about finding herself in the territory of one of her enemies, because she considered all of them rather boorish and not terribly dangerous, but with her only company being LeBlanc, an individual of very fragile allegiances, the chances of her being able to make good out of the situation and getting skewered in the chest by a cutlass were rather equal. Unlike her more daring, card-wielding associate, she didn't like those odds.

"You took me out of that tavern when I was surrounded by enemies only to bring me to an equally dangerous location?" she had to wonder.

"It would do you good to stop thinking so one-dimensionally," LeBlanc almost yawned out the words. "There is nothing to gain in such a drab setting like that. Reaching out into the lion's den, albeit a high risk move, will bring you to the foundation of the lion itself. And there are many things to take from the king of the jungle."

Miss Fortune caught on quickly enough. "The map is here with him."

"Naturally. He is the type of man who hoards possessions like a dragon holds his gold, though he may appear apathetic, or that he does not care about the state of affairs around him. In reality he is another victim of paranoia, nervously watching his back to see who follows him, and wishing to separate all that is significant to him from his own being. But you cannot hope to fool a true master of illusions. He tries to set himself up as the decoy, far detached from the things he holds, but it is quite easy to reel him in and drag him up the line."

She only took in about half the things LeBlanc tried to tell her, careful not to fall too deep into her hypnotic speech, and continued to question every statement she said. If she knew so much about the man, how did he manage to slip through the Black Rose and steal the map in the first place if she valued it so much. Miss Fortune couldn't help but the turn of events transpired to only pull her into the spider's web, and from her experiences with Elise, she knew she wouldn't enjoy playing a character in this ludicrous theater.

"Our distraction at the Inn of Razors has forced him to withdraw back to his stronghold, to a place where he thinks he is safe. He will seek to secure the map, to make sure his trump card is still here and well, which it is, at least for now. It is a simple matter of procedure to snatch it from his hands and escape this household, provided we combine our efforts," LeBlanc offered. "I feel it is time for another partnership, one which I am sure will be very profitable for you again."

LeBlanc failed to mention that, unlike their first engagement, the pirate hunter had received some kind of background briefing before throwing herself in the affairs of Gangplank. Left in the dark, she felt much more reluctant to accept the offer, but still, no sane person would turn it down. Miss Fortune tilted her head towards the bonds loosely tying her to the chair. "You've hardly left me a choice."

LeBlanc turned away in mock horror. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. We both know you can release yourself from those holdings. Take it as a sign of good faith. You may choose to deny me and walk out on your own… if you believe you can do so."

Noting that she and LeBlanc held two very different definitions of the word 'choice,' Miss Fortune nevertheless undid the bonds strapping her to the chair and stood up to unwind her legs, feeling very much sore from her extended sitting. As she got accustomed to the feeling of walking again, she realized that she didn't feel the familiar weight of a certain pair of weapons strapped to her belt. The sorceress gestured at the floor beside her, where Miss Fortune found her trademark double guns safe and intact, an uncharacteristically kind gesture from LeBlanc. Picking up Shock and Awe, she turned to her unlikely companion.

"You've got yourself a deal."

Where Miss Fortune would have expected another one of her trademark wicked smiles, LeBlanc instead showed a face of grim determination, and she had no witty quip or statement to accompany her as she silently walked towards the door from whence she came. Before turning the door handle she finally addressed the bounty hunter once more.

"Allow me to dispose of the man standing around the corridor. It is imperative that he be taken care of silently so as to maintain the element of surprise for as long as we can. Zaitan does not travel with any less than three men, however, so we will inevitably be spotted by a group and have the rest of his men come in to reinforce them before we actually do reach the room where our target lies," she explained.

"I understand," came the simple reply.

"Then let us go." LeBlanc's smile reappeared as suddenly as it had vanished. "As the philosophers say, carpe diem."

They encountered no immediate resistance on their way exiting the room. Miss Fortune figured that they all probably patrolled towards the outside of the house in case of any rival pirate lords making their way, but none of them would expect an infiltration from their interior. She tried to muffle her footsteps, her leathers somehow making more sound than LeBlanc's very conspicuous heels, but even her somewhat graceless gait didn't arouse any suspicion yet. Once they did turn right into a hallway did they find a man, just as LeBlanc had said, sitting on a bench chewing on something - tobacco, she could have guessed in the infinitesimal amount of time she had. The man had quick reflexes, and Miss Fortune had barely drawn up Awe from her belt instinctively, but LeBlanc had already placed a violet and yellow mark on the pirate before appearing to tackle the man to the ground, knocking him down. A pair of chains came from the sleeves of her dress with incomprehensible speed, preventing the man from the use of any of his limbs with one while wrapping the other around his mouth to stop any outcry that might have come out. With a wave of her staff the man fell unconscious, the result of some silent incantation, Miss Fortune guessed.

The matron turned back to an impressed, if a bit stunned, Miss Fortune. She knew the Deceiver to come up quick on the trigger from their experiences on the Fields of Justice, but it seemed that the magical regulations that the Institute had bade them fight by did not do LeBlanc's true powers justice. "Come along now," she invited, gesturing her to catch up with an index finger. "You will have your use soon enough."

She wanted to point out that she existed in this scheme as her partner and not her lapdog, but Miss Fortune again chose to keep her mouth shut and her eyes open. Passing through a couple of arches brought them into a much wider, circular room in the house, although the space seemed fairly devoid of people only seemed to hold a couple pieces of furniture - potted plants atop stools, a low-set table with one leather chair resting next to it, and a cabinet on the far side of the room housing a variety of eclectic objects, most likely artifacts taken from looting the ships of other nations.

"The map is likely in one of the rooms further down in the interior," LeBlanc surmised. "If they will not come to us, I suppose we can just invite ourselves in…"

"Hold it right there, lasses," a Barrier-accented voice ordered them. It seemed everyone tonight had some kind of magical appearance trick, for suddenly Miss Fortune found LeBlanc and herself surrounded by Zaitan and seven other men, standing in the archways of the many exits of the room. Making an escape would give them several opportunities of exit, she thought, but judging by the many weapons their captors had brandished to threaten them, they would find themselves hard-pressed to look for a quick and clean getaway.

"Just the man we were looking for," LeBlanc cooly replied. "It does save me the trouble of having to seek you out personally."

Zaitan looked puzzled for a moment, but decided to ignore the sorceress and walk dangerously closer to Miss Fortune, who had her twin guns raised at an instant, an arm directed at either side of her. She rounded on the pirate so her body, as well as Shock and Awe, all faced him, a gesture which made the rest of Zaitan's men all the more hostile and come closer.

A hand from the man of the Barrier seemed to quell their bloodlust, if only for a second. "You again," he addressed Miss Fortune. "This isn't right. You weren't supposed to be here." Although he looked straight at her as he said the words, his eyes didn't seem to make direct contact, instead looking through to her, to a focus behind her that she couldn't see.

"I don't know what you mean, but as you can tell, I'm here in the flesh," Miss Fortune said. "And I understand you have something of ours, so if you'd like to just hand it over, it'd save a lot of time for all of us and there won't be any need to struggle."

Zaitan barked out a haughty laugh, the color coming back to his eyes as he took out a pistol of his own. "Tough words, coming from a pair of lambs caught by a pack of wolves. I don't know what you and your witch friend be looking for, but if you mean to trespass on my property and try to take anything from me, you'll face the punishment."

The Deceiver seemed to take the underhanded slight quite personally, for she frowned deeply. "Well, if you so insist." With a snap of her fingers she cast a cloud of dark purple smoke which quickly filled the room and obscuring it, prompting a cacophony of coughing from Zaitan and his men as they struggled to keep the pollution out of their lungs. Strangely enough, Miss Fortune felt no discomfort from the eerie substance, although she still couldn't see past her nose in all the thickness.

"This way," LeBlanc gently urged her, taking her by the arm and pulling her in some direction which Miss Fortune couldn't make out, knocking over a few confused pirates along the way. A hand desperately reached out to try to apprehend them - Miss Fortune noted how it dangerously came close to her chest and swatted it away with the blunt force of one of her guns, eliciting a cry of pain from the offending pirate. Once they had made their way far enough down another hallway, the smoke began to clear out and she caught sight of LeBlanc deep in concentration, scanning the many rooms and trying to decide which one would take them to Zaitan's personal quarters and to the map he had stolen.

LeBlanc's method didn't seem to have neither rhyme nor reason to it, but Miss Fortune knew her history, how the fruits of a madman's labor would more often than not lead to a great discovery, and whether by some occult designation or dumb luck, the Deceiver opened a door leading to a small, modestly furnished bedroom, with a desk and drawer near the bed serving as the only decoration. "Guard the door," she instructed as she gleefully stepped inside.

Not at all pleased to take on the much more dangerous task, Miss Fortune nevertheless took a position in the hallway which would allow her to not only see Zaitan's men coming if they made it down the corridor, but also to watch LeBlanc's movements as she rummaged around the room looking for the map. She wondered how many rooms in the house looked identical to that one. Judging by the size of the house, Zaitan probably shared his residency with quite a few others, which meant that finding a private bedroom meant little towards discerning the correct location for the map.

The cloud of smoke didn't seem to dissuade their pursuers for long. Miss Fortune heard them coming before she saw them, and a couple of seconds after their footsteps echoed down the hall she saw two of them enter the corridor in which she stood, uttering cries of surprise. One of them quickly pointed a pistol at her while his mate approached carefully with a knife, straying to the side to avoid being in the line of crossfire from his partner. The man with the gun seemed to waste a small amount of time mentally confirming in his head that he had indeed found his target, but Miss Fortune only needed that short interval to take advantage of his momentary hesitation.

A bullet shot forth from Shock, nailing the man with the pistol in the chest and making him recoil as he clutched his wound with his free hand, struggling to maintain his balance. The injury made his return shot go wild as Miss Fortune stood her ground, now sizing up the second man who in a fit of rage blindly charged at the bounty hunter, only to find another of her bullets gouged into his shoulder. The impact disoriented him like a bull charging at a matador, and as he got into range Miss Fortune ran up to him, silently thanking her apparel preparations that she didn't go out in heels, aiming a kick at the hand with the knife. The pirate cried out in pain, dropping the sharp weapon as it hit the floor with a clang, and she pointed Awe at his face and kept him down with a boot firmly planted on his chest.

"I think it'd be in both of our best interests if you just kept quiet," she told him.

The man seemed to cooperate, although the nasty expression on his face still communicated the endless contempt he held for her at that point. Even with the first two chasers handily taken care of, Miss Fortune still heard more closing in; the house must not have been that large if they could clear the perimeter that quickly. She turned her attention back to LeBlanc, ticked off that she had to waste a couple of minutes dealing with the inept pirates and thus lost track of the sorceress' whereabouts, but she found the Deceiver standing next to her with a certain parchment in stow, smiling triumphantly.

"Call it intuition," she explained as she took a look at the bodies sprawled on the floor. "There's blood everywhere. It would do you well to learn how to tidy up after yourself." She raised her staff, pointing it at the man Miss Fortune held down with her foot, and shot a violet beam of energy at him, sending a quick electric shock throughout his entire body. After a few spasms, the man had stopped moving altogether, an empty look in his eyes where there had been malice a few moments ago.

LeBlanc could hear Zaitan and the rest of his men closing in as well, and sure enough, within a couple of seconds they had appeared in front of them. Miss Fortune prepared herself to fight - she did well in narrow areas with her twin guns taking up a surprising amount of space, but LeBlanc had other ideas. "I thank you kindly for your cooperation, and as much as I would love to stay and chat over a cup of tea, I'm afraid this is where I'll have to take my leave."

Zaitan didn't look at all perturbed at the sight of one of his men dead on the ground between them. "I wasn't planning on killing you now, but I won't turn down a free gift." He glanced at LeBlanc. "Kill the witch too. I'd like to capture you alive, Sarah… but sometimes my men just can't help themselves."

She'd gladly go down fighting rather than let herself fall into the clutches of anyone who associated with a man as wicked as Gangplank on friendly terms. Readying her guns for another round of, she braced her legs and prepared to stand and fight, but again, LeBlanc had other ideas. "How precious," she said mockingly, snapping her fingers and creating a curtain of smoke once again, but Zaitan and his men did not balk at their lack of vision, firing blindly into the mist. Miss Fortune reflexively ducked towards the ground and dove for the open doorway next to the room, hoping to use it as a shield from the open fire. The rain of gunshots continued, and the sound of a bullet making impact through silk robes didn't seem to bring good news.

The smoky fog dissipated much sooner this time, and when enough visibility had returned to her, Miss Fortune saw LeBlanc bent over on one knee, clutching her chest. When she had drawn her hand back, the bounty hunter could see the blood flowing over it, the crimson mixing with the blue of her robes and creating a grim violet color. The Deceiver managed to stand up, but Zaitan and his men had closed the distance drastically between them during the time the smoke had gone up, and had readied a second round of gunshots much closer to LeBlanc when she immediately dashed through them, making a beeline for the main room. Zaitan gave a cry and directed his men to chase after the Noxian, sending the entire group down the corridor to take her down. Fast as she ran, even with magical enhancements, she couldn't outrun the bullets, and Miss Fortune clearly saw them hit their mark. But instead of crumpling to the ground, LeBlanc had simply...vanished.

"Over here," a voice whispered into her ear while she attempted to process what had just happened. Looking over her shoulder, Miss Fortune caught sight of LeBlanc smiling over her, and she understood. Many times on the Fields of Justice, when an enemy team believed they had cornered LeBlanc, she simply disappeared for a brief second before issuing a replica of herself alongside the real one. The mirror image often led bloodthirsty champions on a wild goose chase, only to find themselves grasping at the air when it vanished upon "dying."

Her illusion complete, the real LeBlanc led her further down the corridor down which they originally gone. A couple of turns more, they arrived at one last room, a window located above it. Miss Fortune hurried to the door, finding it locked. "What's in here?"

"The room itself is not of any importance. We have come here to complete our escape route," LeBlanc answered. Summoning the pair of ethereal chains once more, she flung one onto the ledge of the window. "You will have to shoot through the glass. The sound is quite loud, and they will probably note the echo, so it is vital that we leave here at once. Once it is broken, I will take the first chain up and toss you the second one."

The plan she had laid out put all the risk of trust upon the bounty hunter's shoulders. LeBlanc could have easily abandoned her in the midst of her enemies, left to the devices of Zaitan and his men, but she saw no alternative way to go about it. Miss Fortune nodded. Aiming Awe at the window pane, she sent one bullet through the center of the glass foundation, shattering the transparent material and sending the bullet streaking through the sky as it continued its arc. Going according to plan, LeBlanc pulled herself up towards the now open window with the first chain with a strength that simply ignored gravity. Now she only had to fulfill her side of the bargain. The bounty hunter swallowed, hoping that LeBlanc wouldn't stand her up this far into the agreement.

The Deceiver tossed the second one down to her, and Miss Fortune, stowing her guns back into her belt, took ahold of it with both hands, not quite sure how she would scale the wall. However, LeBlanc simply gave a gentle tug, and Miss Fortune felt herself raised up like a pulley up towards the ceiling, where LeBlanc extended a hand. Taking it, the two women found themselves about twenty feet high, overlooking the streets below, shrouded in darkness at so late of an hour.

"After all of this, the descent down becomes child's play, wouldn't you think?" LeBlanc questioned. Without waiting for an answer, she leapt, gracefully landing on the ground with all the weight of a pound of feathers. Miss Fortune soon followed, transitioning into a somersault so as to keep her momentum and not crash into the earth. Besides being a bit shaken up, however, she had managed to escape relatively unharmed. She turned to LeBlanc, who had already begun to walk away. "Hold on for a second. So are you sure we have the right map? He didn't set a fake in that location to trick us?"

The Deceiver laughed. "Such forethought is beyond the simple minds of these pirates. If you must know, however, I have indeed ascertained the contents of this map. It is without a doubt, one hundred percent authentic. And that brings our second partnership to an end. It was the greatest of pleasures working with you again, my dear Sarah."

Miss Fortune wanted to yell at her, telling her to hold on, but LeBlanc had already dashed into the darkness and disappeared. She didn't expect to walk away with the map, since it had stayed in LeBlanc's possession the entire time, but at the very least she hoped to get a glance at it and jog her memories since the last time she laid eyes on it. Her half-reliable mental picture of it wouldn't do any good. She would have to track LeBlanc down once more to figure out what exactly the woman sought for with the map, but that would come another time.

Her priorities now fell to reuniting with Rafen and the rest of her crew at the coves on the other side of the far cliffs where she had told them to bring the Syren. Her adventures had brought her out much later than anticipated, and she wouldn't blame them if they took her for dead or sent out a search party, but she felt that Rafen, at the very least, wouldn't be surprised when she told him the full story. Heading in the opposite direction of where LeBlanc had disappeared, she strode briskly, putting her hands into the old coat she wore to protect them from the night air. Upon reaching the pockets her left hand made contact with a small slip of paper. Pulling it out, she held it close to her face, attempting to read the font without any light to assist her.

 _Keep in touch. An hour past supper, at the Golden Hind._

* * *

 **A/N:** I didn't die I was just playing League with writer friends and having trouble getting myself to write stuff. Once again I start with an unnecessarily long backstory and then when I get to the action itself it drags on for so long and now this chapter is 7k words. It was pretty fun writing LeBlanc though. Next chapter the scene is set so that a bunch of the characters so far will finally run into each other and then chaos happens.


	6. When the Lights Are Down

"Check this out, Quinn!"

Not again.

The memory played out like a replay of a League match the summoners often conjured up for them, vivid colors, immense detail, and worst of all, the third-person perspective where Quinn watched herself live out the past, powerless to do anything but watch. Scouts typically had good memory by nature, but this one made sure to never leave her, despite the gradual erosion of nine years replacing her childhood experiences with her adult reality and the more eventful world Quinn found herself in when the Institute of War inducted her into the League of Legends.

The highest point in the region for miles around, the cliffs of Wilson's Peak became a common adventure stop for hopeful youths and intrepid travelers, a source of inspiration for the upcoming generation that they could rise above their menial existence. Up there, she and her twin would daringly explore every nook and cranny, tackle each overhang and ledge, and scale each bluff and path to perfect their sense of adventure. Quinn and Caleb believed themselves capable of joining the ranks of the bravest and the brightest, the strongest and the swiftest, all the promising individuals who would make their way to the capital of Demacia and begin to carve out their own futures. Her brother had come up with the idea that they could take up sword and shield like the peerless warriors of the Dauntless Vanguard and serve the kingdom as knights, dutiful servants to the crown, and Quinn had jumped at the prospect, the chance to emulate her favorite heroes from the stories their grandmother used to read to them by the fire. As soon as they turned eighteen, Caleb had planned out, they would pack their bags and ride with the first company they found patrolling around the Demacian borders back to the capital. From there, they'd waste no time enlisting into the military and work their way up the ranks. It wouldn't matter how long the process would take or how hard they would find the work, for as long as they had each other to rely on for support, they'd persevere and acquire that illustrious rank. A twinkle always shined in Caleb's eye when he recited the title he'd come up for himself: the Paladin of Valor.

And one day, he would tell her, pointing up into the azure horizons and gesturing at the birds who took wing above them, we'll fly up there with the best of them.

She hadn't come up with an equally grand name to match his - the decision would come when the time actually came, she told him. But Quinn never really sought to win knighthood for all the glory and the riches that her brother envisioned, nor did she care to hear her name and her title sung on the lips of troubadours as they spun song and folktales to pass on from generation to generation. Reaching the splendor and beauty of the capital city itself, the bustling metropolis where she heard that all the buildings sparkled iridescent and the spires of the watchtowers climbed to the heavens, would prove enough of a reward for her. More than anything, Quinn wished to see the world, to place her footsteps from one horizon to the next, and bask in the experience of seeing all the wonders Runeterra could offer, meeting all its people, and learning all its history. Caleb would often scoff at her dream and playfully pass it off as the delusions of a hopeless romantic, but Quinn felt completely serious about it. He was the one who gave her the original push to strive to become greater than their predestined lot, so she merely decided to take it to another level. No one would ever expect a country girl raised in the borderlands for most of her life to end up exploring to the ends of the earth, which made Quinn all the more eager to achieve it.

From the very beginning, Caleb always showed more promise physically, and he would lead the way when they encountered a part the mountain that they hadn't yet come across, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he mapped out a way to safely cross their treacherous surroundings before perking up excitedly and triumphantly sharing his plan. When they first reached the summit, Caleb had come up with the solution to conquering the small gap that they had just crossed, shimmying along an adjacent narrow ledge to get to the other side. She remembered her heart pounding during her first time crossing the gap, summoning up all the willpower in her system not to look down, to keep looking at her brother as he continued to call out words of encouragement towards her as she kept her body glued to the wall, slowly inching to the side little by little. Before she knew it, Quinn felt Caleb's comforting grip, and when she finally risked taking her gaze away from him, she found nothing but solid ground all around her. That was the first time she had truly felt that they could make their dream into reality.

They had found more threatening things than the treacherous terrain there on the mountain, however. Because not a lot of people made it so high up, the native fauna laid a significant claim to the land at such an elevation, and they would often run into very protective giant bears, Jude's falcons, or if they were particularly unlikely, lynxes. Caleb could take on any of the youths their age on relatively equal footing, being a fantastic wrestler, and not too shabby in a fistfight, but even with Quinn's help, the two couldn't fend off the wildlife without bringing weapons of their own when they made their pilgrimages up to the summit. A couple of more privileged youths might have borrowed a pair of apprentice swords from a blacksmith's forge, but Quinn and Caleb had no such luxury, and had to do with a pair of sharpened sticks carved to primitively resemble spears. Their imitations hardly looked convincing, but as time went on and they grew accustomed to the feel and the weight, the sticks proved a sufficient defense to ward off the dangerous beasts of the mountain. More often than not Caleb would end up as her protector, shielding his sister with his body and fending off the bears and the falcons with the tip of the makeshift spear while Quinn would hide behind him apprehensively watching the resulting encounter until Caleb would finally manage to send the animals back to their nests. He had never failed to protect her.

The streak would end here, on this accursed day, at a time where the two had grown so lazily content with the state of their world and believed they would not find any more threats on the mountain that could adequately give them a run for their money. As such, her brother's lackadaisical side had come forth more often than it should have, and even dangerous crossings like the narrow cliff ledge near the summit that he had first guided her across didn't seem to concern Caleb any longer.

At this moment they were rapidly descending down from the summit, having incurred the wrathful irritation of a particularly large specimen of a Jude's falcon, which bore down on them with its nine-foot wingspan while Caleb and Quinn scrambled down the side of the mountain, a playful smile on her brother's face. The falcons didn't scare them anymore - they had even begun to show some affection for the oversized birds, despite their dangerous talons - and her brother would occasionally turn around from his run to taunt it in order to incite it even further. By then they had learned the contours of the trail, the very twists and turns of the mountainside to an extent that Caleb had a good sense of where he stood even though he was running backwards.

His confidence looked so infectious that it had spread to Quinn, and a day didn't go by where she didn't find that doubt inside her clawing away, thinking that she should have given him a warning or some kind of heads-up before they came closer and closer to that ledge with each step as they continued the brisk pace, the thundering squawks of the falcon resonating through their eardrums as it continued to remain hot on their heels. But in that moment, she had chosen to see only what her eyes allowed her to see, to hear only what her ears allowed her to hear, disregarding the looming threat behind them and the precipitous danger in front of them, and caring only for the youthful flicker of brilliance that she shared with her brother.

One day, he promised, they would fly with the best of them.

Today was not that day.

She had only barely managed to stop herself from skidding over the edge, suspended in the disbelief of watching her brother, the daring, unshakable brother, lose his footing right before the beginning of the ledge and trip head first down the cliff face, tumbling down the rocky carapace hundreds of feet towards the ground and out of her sight. Quinn did not remember whether he had screamed or not; her sense of hearing had dissipated in that long eternal minute, anyways.

 _What did you do now, you big oaf._

Quinn had felt a slight twinge of annoyance at first, as if Caleb had merely played a cruel practical joke on her and would climb up from the bottom of the cliff and tell her "just kidding!" with a goofy grin on his face. The cry of the falcon behind her, who had taken advantage of her state of shock to scratch at her with its talons, had jolted her back to reality. Ducking to avoid the swooping blow, Quinn's survival instincts kicked in and she scrambled towards the edge, the fear of falling completely made void by the growing necessity to get out of this place as soon as possible and the continual denial that she had just lost her brother, her best friend in the entire world.

The rest of her solitary descent did not come up as clearly as the rest of her memory, her recollection transmitting a series of incoherent blurs and a scramble of uncoordinated limbs as she somehow limped her way to ground level, cuts and scrapes all over her arms and legs. Somewhere along the way, the falcon had stopped trailing her, whether due to boredom or force, and she saw herself grasp the wooden spear in her hand as if it was a foreign object, her unblinking face frozen in a failure to comprehend the recent tragedy that had just unfolded before her eyes.

Her balance gave in before her composure, and without warning Quinn's body crumpled to the ground, her figure sprawled out in a disheveled mess of fatigue and despair.

* * *

 **A/N:** I didn't get to actually write the entirety of this chapter but I wanted to publish some sort of thing relating to Crimson Tides by the start of November because I'm considering writing for NaNoWriMo and starting up a whole new piece for that writing challenge, so you get a bit of Quinn backstory which would be the start of this actual chapter. This will be extended come next update, but I don't know how soon that will pop up.


End file.
